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FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE 


OR, 


IN  LOVE  WITH  A  HANDSOME  SPENDTHRIFT 


A  NOVEL 


LAURA  JEAN  LIBBEY 

AUTHOR  OF 

!5miss  middletok's  lover;  or,  parted  on  their  dridal  toot*," 


Copyrighted,  1888, 

BY 

LAURA  JEAN  LIBBEY 

ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 


NEW  YORK 

THE    TRADE    SUPPLIED  BY 

THE  AMERICAN  NEWS  COMPANY 
188S 


130961 


Press  of  Wynkoop,  Hallenbeck  &  Co.. 
121  Fulton  Street,  New  York. 


!  y$  Ch 

f  ... 

TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER.  PAGE. 

I.  Coming  Events  Cast  their  Shadows  Before  ..  i 

II.  General  Hastings'  Daughter   9 

III.  a  I  Warned  You  Against  Him  "   20 

IV.  A  Fatal  Wooing   28 

V.  u  I  Would  Rather  See  My  Daughter  Dead 

than  Give  Her  to  You  "   36 

VI.  "  You  Must  Learn  to  Forget  Him"   42 

VII.  Reine  Bows  to  the  Inevitable  -.   48 

VIII.  il  Where  is  the  Bride  ?  "   54 

IX.  The  Detective  on  the  Trail   60 

X.  The  Heir  of  the  Towers   65 

XI.  A  Mystery  .   70 

XII.  The  Elopement   75 

XIIIo  Thorns  in  the  Bridal  Wreath   81 

XIV,  "  She  Chose  Her  Own  Path,  Now  let  Her 

Follow  It..   86 

XV.  "  I  Wish  to  Heaven  I  had  not  Married  You  "..  92 

XVI.  "  Would  it  End  in  a  Duel  ?  "   98 

XVII.  "  Oh  Cruel  Love  whose  End  is  Scorn  v  103 

XVIII.  "  Great  Heaven!— Is  this  Reine?"   113 

XIX.  A  Noble  Foe   119 

XX.  Out  in  the  Darkness  and  the  Storm   125 

XXI.  "  You  did  not  Wed  a  Saint  when  You  Mar- 
ried Me  "   133 

XXIL  An  Unexpected  Encounter....  „  139 

XXIII.  The  Deserted  Bride  .„...„   144 


130961 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER.  PAGE. 

XXIV.  You  are  Wanted  in  Haste......   150 

XXV.  Thrown  on  the  Merciless  World   156 

XXVI.  One  Kind  Editor   162 

XXVII.  I  have  Come  Home  to  Die   169 

XXVIII.  Man  is  but  Mortal   176 

XXIX.  A  Storm  on  the  Florida  Coast   183 

XXX.  Life  or  Death......    188 

XXXI.  Unhappy  is  the  Bride  that  the  Rain  falls  on.  195 

XXXII.  Mystery  and  Woe   200 

XXXIII.  The  Wages  of  Sin  is  Death  ..  206 


Miss  Laura  Jean  Libbey  wishes  to 
notify  her  readers  and  the  public  that 
she  claims  and  has  copyrighted  but  the 
two  novels  entitled  : 

MISS  MIDDLETOFS  LOVER, 

AND 

A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 

Both  books  contain  her  portrait.  Neither 
book  is  genuinely  Laura  Jean  Libbey's 
latest  book  unless  it  contains  said  por- 
trait. 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


CHAPTEE  I. 

COMING  EVENTS  CAST  THEIE  SHADOWS  BEFORE. 

It  was  on  the  loth  of  September.  Iam.  particular 
as  to  the  date,  for  it  marked  the  cruelest  tragedy  that 
ever  darkened  a  young  girl's  life.  The  night  was 
stormy  and  intensely  dark,  save  for  the  vi  rid  flashes  of 
lightning  that  lit  up  the  wild  mountain  scene  with  a 
white,  awful  glare  for  an  instant,  at  irtervals,  then 
died  out,  leaving  the  rugged  slopes  to  the  darkness 
and  the  terrible  storm. 

The  oldest  inhabitant  of  Virginia  neve:  remembered 
having  witnessed  such  a  storm  before. 

The  little  rivulets,  leaping  from  crag  ;;o  crag  clown 
the  mountain  gorges,  were  swollen  into  mighty  cata- 
racts, carrying  death  and  destruction  in  oheir  path  as 
they  dashed  on  to  the  valley  below — on  this  night 
which  was  to  be  made  so  memorable.  In  a  weather- 
beaten  abode  situated  about  midway  between  the  sum- 
mit and  the  base  of  the  mountain,  and  around  the 
comfortable  fire  that  blazed  fitfully,  and  spluttered  in 
the  open  fireplace,  sat  three  persons  :-  -Abel  Moore, 
the  old  mail-carrier,  who  drove  the  mail-;tage  between 
Dover  and  Allendale;  Dorothy,  his  wife;  and  Theressa, 
their  daughter. 

As  they  sat  there,  listening  to  the  fieive  storm,  and 
the  wind  that  howled  like  a  demon  through  the  moun- 
tain gorge,  the  old  clock  on  the  three-cornered  shelf 
in  the  angle  of  the  wall  slowly  struck  nine. 

Abel  Moore  sprung  quickly  to  his  feet. 

1 


A  FOKBIDDEK  MARRIAGE. 


''It's  time  I  was  starting  off,  Dorothy,"  he  said, 
turning  briskly  to  his  wife.    "  Where's  my  heavy 

coat  ?  " 

"  Don't  go  to-night,  Abel/'  pleaded  his  wife. 
"  Abide  at  home  just  this  once/'  and  she  came  a  step 
nearer  him,  laying  a  detaining  hand  on  his  arm.  " 1 
have  a  strange  premonition  that  something  will  happen 
if  you  go.  You  know  it  was  just  such  a  night  as  this, 
years  ago,  that  you  had  that  desperate  encounter  in 
the  mountain  pass;  you  carried  a  large  package  of 
money  then,  just  as  you  will  to-night." 

"  Didn't  I  come  out  victorious  in  that  affair?"  de- 
manded Abel  triumphantly.  "  When  they  stopped 
my  horses,  didn't  I  cut  down  the  whole  crowd  of  them 
with  the  stont  old  hickory  cudgel  I  carried?  Wasn't 
there  blood  all  about  the  place  when  morning  came, 
showing  1  had  put  in  some  pretty  good  work?" 

"They  vowed  vengeance  against  you,  Abel,"  an- 
swered his  wife  solemnly,  "and  sooner  or  later  it  will 
come." 

"  That  was  years  ago,  and  nothing  ever  came  of  it — 
or  ever  will,"  retorted  Abel.  "  That's  only  a  woman's 
whim." 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  go,  Abel,"  she  persisted, 
standing  with  clasped  hands  before  him.  "It 
wouldn't  hurt  any  of  the  village  folk  on  the  other 
side  of  the  mountain  to  wait  a  few  hours  longer  for 
their  letters." 

"  Now  there's  no  use  in  talking,"  he  retorted,  draw- 
ing on  his  heavy  boots  and  stamping  them  down,  then 
proceeding  to  button  up  his  great  coat.  "I  sha'n't 
neglect  my  duty  for  a  woman's  whim,  so  there's  the 
end  on  it.  I've  carried  the  mail  for  twenty  odd  years 
and  never  once  neglected  my  duty,  and  I  ain't  going  to 
commence  now.  A  public  office  is  a  public  trust.  It's 
a  man's  duty,  Dorothy,  to  be  faithful."  And  with 
these  words  he  passed  out  of  the  house  and  into  the 
teeth  of  the  terrible  storm;  a  little  later  they  heard 
the  sound  of  his  horses'  hoofs  and  the  rumbling  of  the 
heavy  wheels  as  they  turned  slowly  into  the  mountain 
road. 

"  Somehow  I  don't  feel  just  right  about  your  father 


COMING  EVENTS  CAST  THE  IK  SHADOWS  BEEOKE.  3 


going  to-night,  Theressa,"  said  Mrs.  Moore,  throwing 
more  logs  on  the  fire.  "  I  hope  to  the  Lord  he  will 
come  back  to  us  safe." 

"  Father  knows  how  to  take  care  of  himself,  I 
reckon/'  replied  the  girl.  "It's  all  nonsense  to  worry 
so,  mother;  he's  neither  sugar  nor  salt, — he  won't  melt. 
It's  a  bad  night  for  the  great  reception  they're  having 
up  at  Waldrori  Towers,"  she  went  on,  in  the  hope  of 
diverting  her  mother's  mind;  "  but  I  suppose  every- 
one hereabouts  who  was  lucky  enough  to  be  invited 
will  go,  even  though  it  rains  pitchforks,  to  get  a  sight 
of  the  bride;  they  say  she's  young  and  very  fair,  and  a 
stranger  in  these  parts." 

Theressa  succeeded  in  her  object  of  diverting  her 
mother's  thoughts,  for  she  answered  quickly: 

"You  can  depend  upon  it,  the  young  girl  is  a 
stranger  or  she  would  never  have  married  the  heir  of 
Waldron  Towers.  I  wonder  that  he  dared  bring  a 
young  wife  there  of  all  places  in  the  world — where  so 
much  has  happened.  Of  course  some  one  of  the 
neighbors  will  tell  her  all  sooner  or  later,  then  there 
will  be  a  fine  time  of  it." 

"  They  say  that  the  poor  little  thing  is  very  fond  of 
him,"  said  Theressa,  "  and  that  she  clung  to  him  all 
the  way  going  up  the  steep  mountain  pass,  like  a 
frightened  school-girl." 

"Heaven  pity  her  if  she  loves  him,"  replied  Dor- 
othy. 

"That  would  not  be  hard  to  do,"  said  Theressa. 
"  He  is  young,  handsome,  and  rich,  and  has  just  the 
knack  about  him  of  winning  women's  hearts." 

"I  would  rather  see  you  dead  than  know  you  had 
given  your  heart  to  such  a  man,"  said  Dorothy  Moore 
with  asperity,  turning  suddenly  upon  her  daughter. 

"  Never  fear,  mother,"  replied  the  girl;  "I  would 
as  soon  think  of  caring  for  Satan  himself.  I'd  go  a 
mile  out  of  my  way  any  day  rather  than  meet  the 
young  master  of  Waldron  Towers.  I  say  with  you, 
mother,  heaven  pity  the  fair  young  bride  he  has 
brought  home." 

"  Carriage  after  carriage,  heavily  laden,  have  passed 


4 


A  FORBIDDEK  MARRIAGE. 


here  since  early  morning.  It  almost  seems  as  if  all  of 
Virginia  v. ere  to  be  at  Waldron  Towers  to-night." 

"  It's  for  no  love  of  the  master  of  the  Towers  they 
come,  but  out  of  curiosity  to  see  the  young  wife.  Ah 
wel^,  as  tlu  old  saying  goes,  Theressa — 

"  '  He  tliac  is  false  to  one  will  never  prove  true  to  another.' 

"The  old  housekeeper  came  down  here,  when  she 
he  ircl  that  the  master  was  coming  back  witli  a  bride, 
and  was  to  have  a  grand  reception,  and  begged  me  to 
go  up  with  her  and  help  decorate  the  place;  but  I  said 
no.  I'd  as  soon  think  of  stepping  into  a  charnel  house 
as  to  step  over  that  threshold. 

"It  would  be  a  blessing  if  the  race  of  Waldrons 
v  ould  die  out  with  the  present  heir  of  the  Towers, 
rut  oh,  child,  I  cannot  think  of  him;  *iy  thoughts  go 
lack  to  your  father.  I  wish  he  was  safe  at  home;  I 
(  annot  shake  off  the  impression,  somehow,  of  impend- 
ing evil." 

"You  are  only  a  little  nervous  to-night,"  said 
Theressa,  soothingly. 

"  It's  enough  to  make  anyone  nervous,"  replied  Mrs. 
Moore;  "see  how  the  house  rocks.  I've  always  said 
that  some  day  one  of  these  fierce  winds  would  shake  it 
from  its  foundation,  and  we  would  go  crashing  down 
the  mountain  side.  I  shall  not  rest  easy  until  your 
father  returns;  somehow  I  never  felt  Kke  this  before. 
He's  only  about  half  way  down  the  mountain,  now. 
Oh,  Theressa,  do  listen  to  the  mad  storm !  " 

Meanwhile,  through  the  storm  and  the  darkness, 
the  Allendale  mail-stage  was  slowly  making  its  way 
toward  the  cross-roads,  seven  miles  distant,  to  meet 
the  night  express  train.  The  steep  serpentine  road 
was  well-nigh  washed  out;  but  the  horses  had  traversed 
that  route  foe  twenty  years,  and  picked  their  way  with 
almost  human  intelligence.  But  at  a  sharp  turn  in  the 
road  they  stumbled,  and,  as  the  descent  was  almost  per- 
pendicular here,  Abel  concluded  that  the  best  plan 
would  be  to  lead  the  beasts,  and,  getting  out  of  the 
stage  and  grasping  their  bridles,  with  a  few  words  of 
encouragement,  he  proceeded  forward  with  great 
caution. 


COMING  EVENTS  CAST  THEIR  SHADOWS  BEFORE.  5 


Suddenly  his  foot  slipped  upon  a  huge  ;tone  that 
had  become  dislo  Lged  and  rolled  down  into  the  path, 
and  the  next  instant,  he  lay  groaning  with  pain  from  a 
severely  sprained  ankle  under  the  horses'  iVet.  They 
stopped  short,  seeming  instinctively  to  realize  that  there 
was  something  amiss,  and,  there  quite  mot  ionless  they 
stood  in  the  midtt  of  the  terrible  storm  an  half  hour 
or  more.  Soon  a 'ter  a  mountaineer  toiling  homeward 
on  foot,  found  Aiel,  and  insisted  upon  taking  him 
home. 

"  There  is  only  o:ie  way  you  can  serve  me,  friend," 
returned  Abel;  "  help  me  reach  the  light  down  yonder. 
It's  the  home  of  a  neighbor.  I  shall  do  well  enough, 
there,  and  take  my  place  on  the  stage,  to  meet  the 
express  train;  you  can  jus;  about  make  it." 

This  was  how  it  happened  that  the  mountaineer — a 
stranger  almost  in  those  parts,  knowing  few  of  the 
people  thereabouts — chanced  tc  take  old  Abel's  place. 

The  stage-driver  drew  rein  at  hi?  destination  with  a 
sigh  of  relief,  and  at  that  instant  the  shriek  of  the 
on-coming  train  sounded  shrill  and  clear  above  the 
wild  roaring  of  the  storm  in  the  distance.  Another 
instant  and  it  had  rounded  the  curve  of  the  moun- 
tain and  stood  still. 

The  mail-bag  was  handed  out,  and  he  saw  a  Slight, 
girlish  figure  alight  from  a  rear  coach;  and  as  he 
gazed,  the  train  thundered  on  again. 

She  advanced  with  a  quick,  firm  step  toward  him, 
inquiring  if  that  was  the  stage  to  Dover. 

The  old  driver  looked  at  the  slender  creature,  w  ho 
was  so  heavily  veiled,  and  all  alone,  in  dismay. 

'*  To  Dover?"  he  exclaimed,  in  astonishmerfc. 
""Why,  no.  This  is  the  mail-stage  which  goes  to 
Allendale,  just  the  opposite  direction.  No  stage  will 
be  along  this  way  going  to  Dover  until  to-morrcw 
afternoon." 

Was  it  his  imagination,  or  did  he  -  really  hear  a  lo  w 
cry  issuing  from  the  folds  of  the  thick  veil  the  young 
stranger  wore,  and  hear  the  words 

"  Oh,  Heaven,  have  pity!  have  i  lercy !  " 

"Can  I  get  a  conveyance  anywhere  around  hereto 


6 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


take  me  there?  I  must  get  there,  if  I  have  to  walk 
every  step  of  the  way/" 

"  There's  no  team  but  this  within  five  good  miles 
of  here/'  he  returned;  "you  couldn't  get  there/' 

"I  must!  Oh,  I  must!"  cried  the  sweet  young 
voice,  distractedly. 

Suddenly  she  tore  olf  one  of  the  dark  gloves  from 
her -little  white  hands,  and  drew  from  her  finger  a  mas- 
sive ring,  set  with  a  flashing  diamond,  and  held  it  out 
to  the  man. 

"  Take  this,  and  drive  me  as  far  as  Dover;  it  is 
worth  twenty  times  my  fare.  Oh,  sir,  for  the  love  of 
Heaven,  do  not  refuse  me!  "she  cried,  wildly.  "I 
must  get  to  Waldron  Towers  before  day  breaks.  I 
cannot  tell  you  why;  but  if  you  only  knew,  you  would 
not  refuse  to  help  me." 

In  vain  the  old  driver  remonstrated,  declaring  "he 
was  sorry,  but  it  couldn't  be  thought  of.  He  must 
take  the  mail  on  to  Allendale." 

In  the  agony  of  despair,  the  beautiful  stranger 
pleaded. 

When  he  looked  back  to  that  night  in  after  years — 
trembling  as  he  thought  of  that  scene,  and  the  tragedy 
that  followed  on  the  heels  of  it— he  remembered  that 
he  very  unwillingly  allowed  himself,  against  his  better 
judgment,  to.  become  persuaded  to  take  the  young  girl 
to  the  gates  of  Waldron  Towers. 

And  an  hour  from  the  time  she  had  first  made  her 
appearance,  they  were  making  their  way  through  the 
terrible  storm  toward  Dover. 

Once  he  thought  he  heard  a  cry  issuing  from  the  in- 
terior of  the  coach.    The  reins  almost  fell  from  his 
nerveless  grasp,  and  his  heart  almost  ceased  to  beat 
He  listened  intently.    The  sound  was  not  repeated. 

"It  must  have  been  my  fancy,"  he  muttered.  "  No 
doubt  it  was  the  wind,  shrieking  and  howling,  with 
demon-like  fury,  down  the  mountain  gorge,  dying 
away  like  a  deep  sob  of  one  in  bitter  pain." 

Again  he  assured  himself  "it  was  only  the  wind,"  as 
he  urged  the  poor  horses  up  the  steep,  slippery  pass  by 
applying  the  whip. 

At  last  the  turrets  of  Waldron  Towers,  ablaze  with 


0OMIK6  EVENTS  CAST  THEIR  SHADOWS  BEFORE.  ? 


lights,  loomed  up  in  the  distance.  A  few  moments 
more,  and  the  entrance  gate  was  reached.  The  terri- 
ble journey  was  ended. 

As  the  driver  assisted  her  to  alight  from  the  vehicle 
the  wind  for  an  instant  raised  the  heavy  folds  of  the 
veil  she  wore,  from  her  face.  A  sharp  exclamation  of 
dismay  rose  to  her  lips  as  she  quickly  drew  it  down  to 
its  place. 

In  that  one  brief  instant,  the  flickering  light  of  the 
gate  lamps  revealed  to  the  man  the  most  beautiful  face 
he  had  ever  beheld;  but  over  the  lovely  face  lay  a 
death-white  pallor.  He  caught  a  glimpse  of  two  dark- 
blue  eyes  and  a  halo  of  golden  hair.  In  that  face  lay 
the  elements  of  a  tragedy. 

He  watched  the  slender,  muffled  figure  curiously  as 
she  disappeared  up  the  broad,  gravelled  path;  then  he 
turned  to  his  stage  again  with  a  thoughtful  face. 

"I  would  know  that  young  woman  anywhere 
again,"  he  muttered.  "Ah,  what  a  face!  what  beauti- 
ful eyes!  *" 

Meanwhile,  the  young  girl  had  crept  up  the  marble 
porch,  close  to  the  long  French  window,  peering  in, 
through  the  lace-draped  window,  with  wide,  distended, 
horror-stricken  eyes. 

The  interior  of  the  apartment  into  which  she  gazed 
was  ablaze  with  light,  and  thronged  with  guests. 

In  their  midst  stood  a  young  man,  with  a  debonair, 
handsome  face.  A  fair  young  girl  in  spotless  white, 
with  pale  blossoms  on  her  breast  and  in  her  clustering 
curls,  clung  to  his  arm. 

AVith  bated  breath,  the  burning  eyes  of  the  figure 
crouching  outside  in  the  terrible  storm  and  darkness 
rested  upon  them.  She  had  pushed  back  the  heavy 
veil,  and  the  sportive  breeze  tossed  the  pale-gold  hair 
wantonly  about  her  lovely  childish  face.  The  wild 
winds  around  her  sung  a  requiem — the  dash  of  the 
down-pouring  rain  a  dirge. 

So  young  and  gloriously  fair,  yet  life  had  gone  all 
wrong  with  her.  Her  strange  secret,  and  her  pitiful 
story,  would  startle  the  world  on  the  morrow,  as  it  had 
never  been  startled  before,  steeped,  as  it  is,  in  misery, 
suffering,  crime  and  sin. 


3 


A  FOKBIDDEK  MARRIAGE. 


There  was  a  quick  shuddering  cry  as  she  gazed  on 
the  young  man's  handsome  face. 

"  It  is  quite  true/'  she  muttered.  "  The  paragraph 
in  the  paper  spoke  truly.    It  is  he ! " 

"Heaven  forgive  me,"  she  gasped,  faintly,  as  she 
diew  somel  hing  from  the  folds  of  her  cloak  Avith  her 
trembling  i-ight  hand.  "Heaven  forgive  me!  I  am 
driven  to  il ." 

Che  next  moment  there  was  a  clear,  ringing  report 
of  a  revoh  er.  The  plate-glass  window  was  shivered 
int  >  a  thousand  fragments.  The  fatal  bullet  had  sped 
on  its  course. 

Who  this  young  girl  was,  who  had  attempted  this 
terrible  deed,  from  whence  she  came,  whether  deserv- 
ing our  deepest  scorn  or  our  heartfelt  pity — and  what 
claim  she  h  id  upon  the  young  and  handsome  man  we 
have  mentioned,  the  after  pages  of  our  story  will 
tell! 

Be  not  ha^ty  in  your  judgment  of  her.  Eemember, 
love  makes  or  mars  a  woman's  life.  It  brings  with  it 
a  blesjing — or  a  curse. 

Yet,  young  hearts  will  still  sigh  for  love,  even 
though  thej  weep  tears  of  pity  over  our  beautiful 
heroin 3?s  folly. 


CHAPTER  II. 


GENERAL  HASTINGS'  DAUGHTER. 

So:me  months  previous  to  the  date  mentioned  in  the 
opening  of  our  story,  in  an  old-fashioned  garden 
scarcely  a  stone's  throw  from  Waldron  Towers,  two 
persons  were  standing  in  the  June  sunshine,  which 
touched  with  a  glint  of  gold  the  features  of  the 
woman,  plain  and  comely,  and  that  of  her  companion 
a  tall,  commanding  gentleman,  with  a  fine,  benevo- 
lent face,  and  the  military  bearing  of  a  soldier. 

He  had  been  a  soldier,  a  general  in  the  army,  and 
Virginia  had  never  known  a  braver  one.  His  name 
was  enrolled  among  those  of  the  heroes  of  Harpers 
Ferry,  during  that  time  so  famous  in  our  nation's 
history. 

Where  flowers  now  bloomed,  in  the  garden  of  Fair- 
lawn  Villa,  and  fountains  tossed  their  white  spray  to 
the  sunshine,  not  many  years  since  those  same  grounds 
had  blossomed  with  waving  cotton,  which  greeted  the 
eye  as  far  as  it  could  reach,  like  a  field  of  snow.  It 
had  been  one  of  the  most  prosperous  plantations  in  all 
Virginia. 

General  Hastings,  the  owner  of  Fairiawn,  loved  to 
recall  reminiscences  of  those  eventful  days. 

On  this  particular  June  morning  the  general  was 
pacing  the  grounds  to  and  fro,  hurriedly,  an  unmis- 
takable frown  on  his  fine  old  face.  Stopping  abruptly, 
he  turned  to  his  companion,  saying  thoughtfully,  "  So 
the  rumors  that  AValdron  Towers  is  to  be  tenanted  by 
the  young  heir  is  true  is  it?— I  had  hoped  it  was  mere 
hearsay." 

Mrs.  Dent,  the  housekeeper  of  Fairiawn,  courtesied. 
' ( It  is  quite  true,  sir,"  she  responded;  "at  the  village 

9 


10 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


they  tell  me  that  Mr.  Waldemar  Waldron  has  been 
domiciled  at  the  Towers  a  fortnight  or  more,  and  that 
lie  has  come  to  stay." 

The  frown  of  annoyance  grew  darker  on  the  old 
general's  face.  "  Mr.  Waldemar  Waldron,  the  heir  of 
the  Towers,  must  never  be  referred  to  in  any  way  in 
the  presence  of  my  daughter  Keine,"  he  said.  "She 
has  never  heard  the  story  of  the  Waldrons,  and  I  hope 
she  never  will.  She  is  impulsive, — girls  of  sixteen 
usually  are, — and  would  imagine  it  highly  romantic; 
especially  when  a  young  and  handsome  man  is  the 
hero  of  it.  There  never  was  a  man  more  hospitable 
than  myself — or  inclined  to  be  neighborly — but  I 
would  sooner  see  the  devil  himself  enter  my  door  than 
this  Waldemar  Waldron:  understand,  I  am  never  at 
home  to  him  if  he  should  take  it  upon  himself  to 
call."  : 

Again  the  old  housekeeper  court esied  in  her  old- 
fashioned  way,  nodding  approvingly. 

General  Hastings  had  spoken  rapidly  and  energet- 
ically, bringing  his  cane  down  heavily  on  the  gravelled 
walk  by  way  of  emphasis  to  his  remark. 

"  I  understand  you,  sir,"  she  said.  "  I  shall  see  that 
your  wishes  are  strictly  carried  out.  I  shall  see  that  a 
Waldron  of  Waldron  Towers  never  crosses  this  thresh- 
old if  I  can  prevent  it.  I  am  inclined  to  think,  though, 
that  he  will  not  be  likely  to  trouble  us,  for  he  has  the 
reputation  hereabouts  of  being  a  sort  of  recluse." 

"  I  never  knew  a  Waldron  but  what  was  a  villain 
to  the  heart's  core,"  declared  the  general  hotly,  "de- 
pend upon  it,  this  one  is  no  exception.  Evil  parents 
cannot  bring  forth  righteous  offspring;  the  race  of 
Waldrons  for  generations  back  has  demonstrated  this; 
I  repeat  again,  never  let  the  name  be  mentioned  in  my 
daughter  Eeine's  presence,"  and  the  old  general's  voice 
sunk  to  a  whisper  as  he  espied  at  that  moment  Heine 
herself  advancing  down  the  serpentine  path,  the  skirt 
of  her  blue  velvet  riding-habit  thrown  over  her  arm, 
leading  her  prancing,  black  pony  by  the  bridle. 

The  grand  old  soldier's  eyes  grew  moist  as  he  looked 
at  her.  If  there  was  one  being  on  earth  whom  he 
idolized,  it  was  his  dainty,  beautiful,  wilful  young 


GENERAL  HASTINGS'  DAUGHTER.  11 

daughter.  She  gave  promise  of  magnificent  woman- 
hood; her  slender  girlish  figure  was  admirably  grace- 
ful; every  unstudied  pose  was  statuesque.  Her  face, 
bright  with  a  beauty  all  its  own,  was  crowned  in  fair 
golden  rings  over  her  forehead,  falling  in  a  tumbled 
mass  of  golden  curls  to  her  waist;  her  eyes  were  a 
beautiful  blue  that  deepened  with  every  phase  of 
feeling,  that  flashed  with  scorn  or  gleamed  with  ten- 
derness, or  shone  with  pride.  She  was  not  without 
fault,  even  as  the  fairest  rose  has  the  crudest  thorns. 
There  was  some  little  degree  of  temper  in  the  bright, 
proud  eyes,  just  as  there  was  something  of  indepen- 
dence and  hauteur  in  the  curved  lips.  She  was  impe- 
rious, quick  tempered,  proud;  but  was  quick  to  forget 
and  forgive  a  wrong  committed.  It  was  not  wonder- 
ful that  everyone  loved  the  fair  young  heiress  of  Fair- 
lawn;  she  was  well  worth  loving.  She  was  the  very 
light  of  the  old  general's  eyes,  his  pride,  his  delight. 

Her  fair  young  mother  had  died  in  her  infancy, 
leaving  the  care  of  their  child  to  the  old  soldier.  He 
was  much  puzzled  to  know  what  to  do  with  her;  then 
came  the  happy  thought  of  sending  Reine  to  school 
when  she  was  old  enough. 

This  plan  had  met  with  disaster:  she  refused  to 
go.  And  the  old  soldier,  who  had  faced  the  enemy  on 
an  hundred  battle  fields  and  led  his  followers  on  to 
victory,  looked  helplessly  at  the  mutinous  little  rebel. 

"If  she  had  been  born  a  boy,"  he  said,  in  consult- 
ing with  the  housekeeper,  "I  should  have  known 
what  to  do  with  her;  but  I  do  not  understand,  small 
girls." 

Mrs.  Dent  suggested  a  governess,  and  the  general 
hailed  the  idea  eagerly,  declaring  it  was  certainly 
stupid  of  him  that  he  had  not  thought  of  that 
before. 

A  long  line  of  suffering  governesses  had  tried  their 
best  to  cram  knowledge  into  the  little  curly,  golden 
head  of  pretty  Reine;  but  each  in  turn  retired  van- 
quished from  the  field,  leaving  the  spoiled  little  heiress 
of  Fairlawn  the  victor.  She  had  caricatured  them, 
mimicked  them,  caressed  them,  defied  them;  did  every- 
thing in  short  but  obey  them. 


12 


A  FORBIDDEN"  MARRIAGE. 


i 


At  length,  by  dint  of  persuasion,  where  he  should 
have  had  but  to  command,  the  general  had  coaxed  her 
to  go  to  boarding-school. 

It  so  happened  that  the  principal  understood  just 
such  natures  as  Reine's,  and  the  result  was,  Reine 
stayed  at  boarding-school,  coming  back  to  Fairlawn 
only  during  the  vacations  of  each  year. 

And  the  long  yellow  days  of  the  present  vacation 
were  but  just  commenced  on  this  bright  June  morning 
on  which  the  second  part  of  our  story  opens. 

Reine  was  not  alone  as  she  came  down  the  path, 
leading  her  pony;  a  young  man  was  walking  beside 
her,  or  rather  endeavoring  to  keep  pace  with  the  girPs 
flying  footsteps  as  best  he  could. 

The  pretty  young  face,  half  hid  by  the  dancing  snowy 
plumes  of  her  hat  and  the  tossing  golden  curls,  was 
turned  from  him  in  vexation  and  the  keenest  dis- 
appointment; the  saucy  red  lips  were  quivering 
grievously. 

Suddenly  she  stopped  short  in  the  path  and  faced 
her  companion,  tearing  the  flowering  lilac  blooms 
ruthlessly  aside  that  dared  to  kiss  the  glowing  roses  in 
her  flushed,  dimpled  cheeks. 

Two  very  blue  and  angry  eyes  met  the  young  man's 
grave,  dark  ones. 

"  You  simply  refuse  to  go  because  you  have  found 
out  that  I  have  set  my  heart  upon  going,"  she  de- 
clared. "Now  what  possible  reason  can  you  have  for 
objecting  to  the  lawn  fete  to  be  held  in  the  grove  back 
of  the  old  ruined  Towers?    Every  one  will  be  there." 

Bernard  Chesleigh's  dark,  grave  face  flushed  a  little 
as  he  met  the  angry,  defiant  glance  of  the  imperious 
little  beauty's  flashing  blue  eyes. 

"  Your  last  remark,  Miss  Reine,  is  the  best  answer 
1  can  give  you  as  to  my  objection  in  going — '  Every 
one  will  be  there/"  he  answered,  calmly.  "Many, 
perhaps,  whom  it  would  be  best  for  you  not  to  meet 
or  know." 

Reine  Hastings  turned  away  from  him  impa- 
tiently. 

"That  is  a  mere  subterfuge,"  she  retorted.  "Let 
me  tell  you  why  you  do  not  care  to  go  to  the  lawn  fete. 


GENERAL  HASTINGS'  DAUGHTER. 


13 


It  is  because  you  are  too  old  to  enjoy  such  things. 
Just  that,  and  nothing  else.  Yet  you  should  not  wish 
to  restrain  me  from  the  pleasures  of  it."  she  went  on, 
with  reckless  bitterness.  "  I  could  Dot  endure  the 
dull  life  that  suits  you  so  well.  I  want  something  dif- 
ferent— something  brighter." 

Bernard  Chesleigh  stood  quite  still  in  the  path. 
]STot  a  muscle  of  his  calm  face  betrayed  how  deeply  the 
girl's  words  had  hurt  him.  They  were  a  revelation  to 
him — those  words  spoken  in  the  spur  of  momentary 
anger  which  laid  bare  her  secret  thoughts.  Old!  Did 
nine-and-twenty  seem  so  old  to  this  bright,  laughing 
girl  of  sweet  sixteen?  The  words  chilled  him  to  the 
heart. 

"  You  are  unkind  and  unjust,  Miss  Eeine,"  returned 
Bernard  haughtily.  "I  would  rather  add  to  your 
pleasures  than  diminish  them.  You  ought  to  know 
that-." 

"  Then  let  me  persuade  you  to  think  better  of  it  and 
consent  to  take  me,"  coaxed  Eeine,  giving  him  an  irre- 
sistible smile  and  a  pleading  glance.  "  You  know  I 
cannot  go  alone.  I  am  sure  the  gathering  will  be  very 
select.'*' 

He  shook  his  head  resolutely. 

"  I  know  of  one  who  will  be  there,  whom  I  would 
not  care  to  have  a  sister  of  mine,  if  I  had  one,  be* 
brought  in  contract  socially  with;  for  that  reason  I 
declined  taking  you." 

""Who  is  the  person?"  demanded  Eeine,  curiously.. 

"  He  is  a  stranger  here.  I  met  him  once,  some- 
time since,"  replied  Bernard  Chesleigh,  a  sudden  fire 
at  some  old  recollection  aroused  creeping  into  his  dark 
eyes. 

"Thank  you  for  the  very  lucid  explanation,"  said 
Reine,  ironically.  "  I  know  a  great  deal  more  about 
him  now  than  I  did  before." 

"  The  less  you  know  of  him  the  better,"  said  Ber- 
nard, gravely. 

Again  the  blue  eyes  flashed  resentfully. 

"  What  a  cross  uncivil  bear  he  is,"  thought  the  girl 
angrily:  and,  disdaining  his  proffered  assistance,  she- 
placed  her  tiny  foot  on  the  block  unaided,  and.  was. 


14 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


seated  in  the  saddle,  and  off  like  the  wind,  in  a  single 
instant. 

Bernard  Chesleigh  gazed  after  her  in  alarm.  Was 
the  girl  mad  to  give  the  animal  free  rein  to  dash  head- 
long down  the  road  like  that? 

With  a  sigh  he  turned  and  walked  slowly  back  to 
the  house. 

When  Eeine  was  quite  out  of  sight  of  Eairlawn 
Villa,  and  the  tall  figure  that  she  knew  was  watching 
gravely  after  her,  she  slackened  her  mad  pace. 

"To  think  that  I  must  stay  away  from  the  lawn 
fete  for  such  a  silly  reason  as  that — some  stranger  will 
be  there  whom  Bernard  Chesleigh  don't  like!  It's  per- 
fectly absurd! "  Then,  girl-like,  her  thoughts  turned 
directly  into  the  channel  Bernard  might  have  foreseen 
that  they  would  drift  into,  had  he  been  wise. 

"I  wonder  who  the  stranger  is,"  she  thought, 
curiously:  "and  why  I  ought  not  to  know  him.  I 
should  think  any  one  whom  Gertie  Traverse  invites  to 
her  fete  must  be  very  nice  indeed.  I  do  not  believe  he 
is  such  an  ogre  as  Bernard  Chesleigh  would  have  him 
appear.    I  will  go  to  the — " 

Her  thoughts  were  brought  to  a  sudden  terminus; 
the  sky  and  earth  seemed  to  clash  together  with  one 
mighty  whirl.  Eeine  felt  herself  dashing  headlong 
through  space — then  chaotic  darkness  reigned. 

When  Eeine  opened  her  eyes  she  found  herself  lying 
upon  the  greensward;  some  one  was  bending  over  her, 
laving  her  face  with  cooling  water.  She  opened  her 
blue  eyes  in  bewildered  surprise,  meeting  the  glance  of 
a  young  man,  a  stranger;  quite  the  handsomest  young 
man  Eeine  had  ever  beheld,  standing  bareheaded 
before  her. 

"You  fell  from  your  horse,"  he  said,  in  answer  to 
her  look  of  bewildered  surprise.  "  I  must  confess 
that  I  was  the  cause  of  the  accident.  I  stepped  out 
from  among  the  trees  just  as  your  horse  turned  a  bend 
in  the  road.  You  did  not  see  me;  you  were  looking  in 
just  the  opposite  direction.  Your  horse  took  umbrage 
at  the  sudden  apparition,  reared,  and  threw  you.  I 
was  fortunate  enough  to  catch  you  in  my  arms  and 
save  you  from  an  ugly  fall,  but  not  fortunate  enough 


GENERAL  HASTINGS5  DAUGHTER. 


15 


to  prevent  you  from  fainting.  ~  But  you  are  not  hurt  ?  " 
he  said  inquiringly. 

"  if  o,"  answered  Reine,  blushing;  "thanks  to  you. 
But  oh!  "  she  exclaimed,  with  a  little  sharp  breath, 
•'•you  have  ruined  your  hat  bringing  water  from  the 
brook  in  it  for  me." 

The  young  man  laughed.  "  What  was  the  loss  of 
a  hat  to  rendering  you  the  slightest  of  services!'"  he 
answered. 

Reine  blushed  more  furiously  than  ever  when  he 
told  her  so.    She  sprang  to  her  feet.. 

"I  thank  you  for  the  service  you  have  rendered  me. 
I  suppose  my  pony  has  left  me  to  make  my  way  home 
on  foot  the  best  I  can,"  she  said. 

"  I  am  pleased  to  inform  you  that  you  are  agreeably 
mistaken/'  laughed  her  companion.  "  After  throwing 
you  so  mercilessly,  the  beast  galloped  a  little  way, 
then  stopped  stock  still  in  the  road,  looking  back  to 
see  how  much  mischief  he  had  accomplished.  After 
attending  to  you,  it  was  an  easy  matter  to  capture  him. 
I  could  scarcely  refrain  from  administering  to  him  a 
sound  thrashing.  There  he  stands  among  the  grass 
yonder,  tethered  to  a  tree  looking  this  way,  the  very 
picture  of  injured  innocence. 

••'Had  you  not  better  remain  a  few  moments  longer," 
he  added,  "  until  you  are  fully  recovered  from  the 
shock?  " 

"  Perhaps  it  would  be  best,"  said  Reine,  reseating 
herself  and  leaning  against  the  trunk  of  a  chestnut 
tree:  for,  in  truth,  her  head  did  feel  slightly  dizzy  yet: 
and  again  her  eyes  fell  upon  the  ruined  white  straw 
hat,  with  its  ruined,  dripping  band  of  blue  ribbon, 
and  wandered  ruefully  back  to  the  fair  curling  head  of 
its  debonair  owner.  A  rosy  blush  suffused  her  face  as 
she  met  his  glance. 

How  handsome  he  looked  in  his  light  summer  suit ! 
how  brown  were  his  eyes!  and  how  white  the  aristo- 
cratic hands  that  toyed  so  negligently  with  the  charm 
on  his  watch-chain. 

"  I  trust  you  will  permit  me  to  introduce  myself  : 
I  haven't  a  card  about  me:  one  never  does  have  when 
they're  needed.    I  never  thought  of  meeting  any  one 


10 


A  FORBIDDEN"  MARRIAGE. 


in  the  wilds  of  Southern  Virginia.  I  am  Waldemar 
Waldron,  and  I  have  taken  up  my  abode  for  the 
present  at  Waldron  Towers — a  rakish  old  pile  of  ruins 
to  the  right  of  us.  If  you  live  in  this  vicinity  you're 
probably  better  acquainted  with  them  than  I  am/" 

"I  do  live  near  here;  that  is,  when  I  am  home  from 
school,  which  is  only  about  two  months  out  of  the 
year;  but  I  do  not  know  much  of  Waldron  Towers, 
although  I  have  always  had  the  desire  to  sketch  it." 

"  Come  and  sketch,  by  all  means.  I,  the  master  of 
the  pile  of  ruins,  give  you  carte  blanche  to  explore 
every  portion  of  it,  that  is,  if  you  are  not  a  timid 
young  lady." 

"What  is  there  to  fear  about  the  place?"  asked 
Reine,  smiling. 

His  eyes  shifted  uneasily  beneath  her  glance,  and 
he  laughed  immoderately  as  he  answered: 

"  The  owls  and  all  the  uncanny  attaches  of  a  ruined, 
moss  overgrown  abode." 

"  I  am  not  very  easily  frightened,"  said  Reine. 

"Then- 1  presume  I  may  expect  you,  portfolio  in 
hand,  any  bright  morning?"  he  asked,  questioningly 
and  curiously. 

"I  am  not  so  sure  about  that,"  she  answered, 
thanking  him  all  the  same  for  the  kind  permission. 
There  was  a  stern  papa  at  home,  who  would  be  likely 
to  decide  what  she  might  or  might  not  accept. 

"Am  I  not  to  know  whom  I  have  had  the  great 
pleasure  of  meeting — so  romantically — this  sunlit 
morning?"  he  asked,  with  a  bow  that  was  certainly 
charming  and  wholly  irresistible. 

"  I  am  Reine  Hastings,"  she  answered.  "  I  live  at 
Fairlawn  Villa;  that  white  stone  house  with  the 
porches  and  pillars  around  it,  on  the  brow  of  yonder 
hill." 

"  Surely  you  couldn't  be  the  daughter  of  General 
Hastings! — the  old  millionaire,"  he  was  about  to  add; 
but  he  checked  the  last  three  words  on  his  lips  just  in 
time,  substituting  the  words — "  of  Fairlawn." 

A  laugh  broke  from  the  girl's  red  lips,  the  words 
sounded  so  ludicrous  to  her,  as  he  had  expressed  them. 

"Why  couldn't  I  be  his  daughter?"  said  Reine, 


GENERAL  HASTINGS*  daughter. 


17 


with  a  saucy  twinkle  in  her  eye,  adding  in  the  next 
breath:  "  That's  just  who  I  am — General  Hastings' 
daughter/' 

Again  Waldemar  Waldron  suppressed  the  low,  in- 
credulous whistle  of  astonishment  that  sprang  to  the 
lips  under  the  fair  moustache. 

It  was  wonderful  to  see,  after  that  announcement, 
how  his  indifference  gave  place  to  the  most  intense 
interest. 

"  Was  it  fate  that  threw  the  lovely  young  daughter 
of  the  old  millionaire  in  his  path  ?  "  he  asked  himself. 
'•'Iam  surprised/'  he  repeated  at  length,  "  living  so 
near  Waldron  Towers,  you  should  know  so  little  of 
it." 

"  It  is  not  so  strange  when  you  remember  that, 
although  Fairlawn  is  my  home.  I  spend  very  little 
time  here.  I  am  doomed  to  remain  at  Vassar  College 
ten  months  out  of  the  year:  and  it  scarcely  seems  a 
week  from  the  time  papa  sends  Bernard  Chesleigh  to 
fetch  me  home  until  I  am  obliged  to  go  back  again." 

"  Bernard  Chesleigh! "  repeated  the  young  man,  a 
strange  gleam  firing  up  his  brown  eyes.  "  He  is  a 
friend  of  your  family,  then?" 

"He  is  my  father's  law-partner,  although  papa  is 
almost  twice  as  old  as  he  is,"  answered  Reine.  "  He 
generally  spends  the  summer  months  with  us  at  Fair- 
lawn.  " 

"  I  see,"  returned  Waldemar  Waldron,  turning  his 
brilliant  eyes  keenly  upon  the  girl's  fair  young  face. 
"  there  is  an  especial  attraction  for  him  at  your  home. 
I  can  well  understand  why  it  should  be  so." 

Seine  did  not  in  the  least  comprehend  the  drift  of 
what  he  meant. 

"  There  is  a  great  attraction  for  him  at  Fairlawn," 
assented  Reine,  serenely.  "We  have  one  of  the  finest 
law  libraries  in  Virginia  there,  and  Mr.  Chesleigh  is  a 
veritable  bookworm.  Do  you  know  him?"  she  asked, 
suddenly.    "Almost  everybody  does." 

"I  met  him  once,"  returned  Waldemar  Waldron, 
carelessly;  but  there  was  a  bitterness  in  his  voice  that 
did  not  quite  escape  Reine's  wondering  ears.  "We 
are  hardly  acquaintances,  however." 
2 


18 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


Reine  had  risen  to  her  feet,  picking  up  her  gloves 
and  riding- whip  again. 

"  There  is  one  request  I  should  like  to  ask  of  you, 
Mr. — Mr.  Waldron,"  she  said  timidly,  and  with 
another  blush. 

"  Consider  it  granted  beforehand,"  he  replied,  gal- 
lantly. 

"  And  that  is,"  pursued  Reine,  "that  you  will  not 
mention  how  very  unkindly  my  pony  has  behaved  to 
me  to-day,  lest  it  should  get  to  papa's  ears,  and  he 
should  forbid  me  to  go  out  unattended." 

"  Consider  your  wish  my  law.  I  shall  not  mention 
it,"  he  replied.  And  the  look  which  accompanied  the 
words  made  Reine's  girlish  heart  flutter  strangely. 

How  gracefully  he  assisted  her  to  alight — placing 
the  gold-mounted  whip  in  her  little  gauntleted  hand 
— expressing  the  hope  very  earnestly  the  while  that 
they  would  meet  again. 

They  were  destined  to  meet  sooner  than  either  of 
them  knew. 

Long  after  the  blue  waving  riding-habit  and  danc- 
ing plume  were  out  of  sight,  Waldemar  Waldron  stood 
motionless  where  she  had  left  him,  leaning  against  a 
gnarled  chestnut  tree. 

He  knew  better  than  to  ever  venture  to  call  at  Fair- 
lawn — for  within  those  walls  dwelt  his  merciless  foe. 
He  turned  white  to  the  lips  as  the  grave,  stern  face  of 
Bernard  Chesleigh  rose  before  his  mental  vision.  In 
the  rustling  of  the  leaves  about  him  he  could  almost 
fancy  that  he  heard  again  the  scathing  rebuke  Bernard 
Chesleigh  had  hurled  at  him  as  lie  pointed  with  com- 
manding dignity  to  the  door. 

He  recalled,  as  he  stood  there,  the  answer  he  had 
made  the  yonng  lawyer: 

"  It  is  your  turn  now  to  triumph  over  my  downfall 
and  disgrace,  Chesleigh — but  for  you  I  should  never 
have  been  found  out;  tut  the  time  may  come  when  I  can 
avenge  myself.    If  it  ever  does — beware  !  " 

"Had  that  time  come  now?"  Waldemar  Waldron 
asked  himself.  "  Conld  it  be  possible  that  the 
haughty  young  lawyer  had  fallen  in  love  with  General 
Hastings'  pretty  daughter?  "    It  was  not  only  possible, 


GENERAL  HASTINGS*  DAUGHTER. 


10 


but  very  probable.  What  else  could  be  the  attraction 
at  this  dull  place?  Yet  it  was  equally  evident  that 
pretty  Reine  was  certainly  heart-whole  and  fancy-free, 
for  all  that.  He  would  see  for  himself  how  matters 
stood  before  he  laid  any  plans  for  the  future.  The 
girl  was  certainly  pretty  as  a  picture — and  heiress  to  a 
cool  million.    What  a  temptation! 

Waldron  turned  on  his  heel  walking  slowly  down  the 
daisy  bordered  high  road,  with  a  strange  smile  on  his 
lips — yet  the  thoughts  in  his  brain  were  far  from 
pleasant  ones. 


CHAPTER  III. 


"I  WARNED  YOU  AGAINST  HIM." 

Reine  Hastings  was  not  one  to  brook  a  refusal,  if 
she  had  made  up  her  mind  on  any  subject;  and  she 
certainly  had  set  her  heart  upon  going  to  the  lawn  fete 
which  was  to  be  held  in  Waldron  grove. 

At  first  the  general  had  sternly  refused  her,  but  he 
was  not  proof  against  her  pretty,  coaxing  blandish- 
ments, and  it  ended  the  way  she  knew  it  would. 

"  Cease  teasing  me,"  cried  the  general.  "  Yes,  you 
can  go;  but  mind,  I  put  in  the  proviso,  if  you  can  get 
Chesleigh  to  take  you,"  he  added,  unwinding  the  two 
soft,  white  arms  that  had  twined  themselves  around 
his  neck. 

"  You  are  a  darling  papa,"  cried  Reine,  giving  him 
a  kiss,  and  in  another  moment  the  triumphant  young 
beauty  had  sought  Bernard  Chesleigh  in  the  library; 
she  knew  she  would  find  him  there,  buried  deep  in  the 
mysterious  pages  of  some  law  book. 

A  low,  silvery,  triumphant  laugh,  that  fell  upon  the 
summer  air  like  the  chiming  of  a  bell,  startled  him. 
Reine  was  standing  before  him;  her  fair  face  was 
flushed  with  excitement. 

"1  am  to  go  after  all,  Mr.  Chesleigh,"  she  said, 
"and  if  you  do  not  accompany  me,  I  suppose  I  shall 
have  to  set  out  alone.  If  you  really  do  not  wish  to  go, 
I  can  accompany  Gertie  Traverse  aud  her  escort,"  she 
added,  tossing  back  her  golden  curls  impatiently. 

Bernard  Chesleigh  laid  down  his  book. 

"What  if  I  should  tell  you  that  I  have  changed  my 
mind — that  I  do  wish  to  go!  I  did  object  slightly  at 
first,  but  now  I  yield,  and  shall  be  most  happy  to  offer 
my  escort,"  he  said,  smilingly  and  wistfully. 

Reine  looked  at  him  incredulously  with  her  merry 
blue  eyes. 

20 


eeI  WARNED  YOU  AGAIXST  HIif. 


21 


"  I  thought  when  you  once  made  L;p  your  mind  yon 
never  changed  it,  Mr.  Chesleigh;  I  must  confess  I  am 
just  a  little  surprised/'  she  said,  mischievously. 

"  Circumstances  alter  cases,"  he  said,  flushing 
slightly.  <(  I  want  to  show  you,  Miss  Reine,  that  I  do 
enjoy  lawn  fetes  still." 

The  girl  looked  at  him  wonderingly,  scarcely  credit- 
ing her  own  senses.  What!  Grave  Mr.  Chesleigh  like 
dancing,  mirth  and  frivolity?  Oh,  impossible!  It 
was  quite  droll  to  even  imagine  such  a  thing,  and  again 
an  amused  laugh  fell  from  her  lips. 

Reine  flew  hurriedly  out  of  the  library  and  up  to  her 
own  room,  to  don  her  hat  and  mantle. 

Bernard  Chesleigh  watched  the  airy,  graceful  figure 
as  she  flitted  away,  with  wistful,  earnest  eyes. 

"  She  shall  go,"  he  ruminated.  "It  would  be  cruel 
to  deprive  her  of  gayety  and  pleasure.  But  no  harm 
shall  reach  her,  for  I  shall  be  there  to  take  care  of  her." 
_Like  the  general,  against  his  better  judgment,  he 
had  given  way  to  Reine's  pleadings,  and  in  all  his  after- 
life he  bitterly  reproached  himself  for  it. 

By  the  time  Bernard  had  replaced  the  book  upon 
the  shelf  Reine  had  reappeared.  He  understood  noth- 
ing of  the  details  of  dress.  The  effect  he  saw  was 
something  marvellous.  To  him  she  was  like  a  delicate, 
dainty,  fairy  vision.  He  saw  only  her  lovely  face 
flushed  with  excitement,  and  what  seemed  to  him 
clouds  of  lace,  snowy  white,  draped  in  graceful  folds 
about  the  slender  figure.  A  pink  silk  sash  was  girdled 
about  the  small  waist,  and  pink  blush  roses  nestled 
on  her  breast  and  were  twined  among  the  fluffy  golden 
curls. 

Reine  was  in  gay  spirits  as  they  started  off.  They 
found  a  large  party  assembled.  The  grove  was  fairly 
ringing  with  merry  young  voices  and  peals  of  laughter, 
while  the  scene  presented  was  an  animated  one.  Col- 
ored lanterns  swung  from  the  branches  of  the  trees; 
gorgeous  tinted  bunting,  rivalling  the  hues  of  the  rain- 
bow, fluttered  in  the  breeze.  The  grove  seemed  liter- 
ally packed  with  lovely  young  girls  and  gallant  cav- 
aliers. 

Reine  was  warmly  welcomed,  for  she  was  a  generai 
favorite,  as  was  also  Bernard  Chesleigh. 


2? 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


Twice  he  had  spoken  to  Reine,  but  she  had  not  even 
heard  him.  She  was  wondering  curiously  whether 
Waldemar  Waldron  would  be  present.  Surely  Gertie 
Traverse  had  had  the  grace  to  invite  him,  especially 
us  the  lawn  fete  was  to  be  held  in  his  grove. 

Ah! — Reine  Hastings'  heart  gave  a  quick  throb. 
She  had  walked  to  the  end  of  a  shady  path,  and  there 
she  saw  him,  the  centre  of  an  admiring  group,  looking 
handsomer,  if  possible,  than  he  had  appeared  the  day 
before. 

He  was  talking  to  Gertie  Traverse,  Reine's  dearest 
friend  and  boon  companion.  How  different  he  looked 
from  any  young  man  Eeine  had  ever  seen — more  lively, 
more  animated,  with  gayer  smiles. 

She  saw  him  start  as  he  caught  sight  of  her,  and 
her  lovely,  child-like  face  flushed  with  pleasure. 

She  stood  quite  still,  expecting  that  he  would  come 
up  to  her;  but  instead,  he  turned  carelessly,  noncha- 
lantly away,  giving  her  no  opportunity  to  bow  to  him. 

How  was  she  to  know  that  he  would  not  have  dared 
presume  upon  her  acquaintance  while  Bernard  Ches- 
leigh walked  beside  her?  The  girl's  heart  sank  with 
wounded  pride  and  pique.  In  that  one  instantaneous 
glance,  Waldron  had  discovered,  the  secret  that  Ber- 
nard Chesleigh  had  believed  no  one  in  the  world  knew, 
and  which  was  locked  securely  in  his  own  breast — that 
he  loved  the  general's  daughter.  He  had  only  sur- 
mised that  it  might  be  so,  before;  but  in  that  hasty 
glance  he  had  taken  at  Bernard  Chesleigh's  face  the 
surmise  was  reduced  to  a  certainty. 

A  strange  smile  crept  up  to  the  lips  beneath  the  fair 
moustache.  He  saw  a  way  to  pay  Bernard  Chesleigh 
back  for  that  which  had  happened  in  the  past  with 
double  interest. 

Bernard  was  standing  by  Heine's  side,  doing  his 
best  to  interest  her;  wondering  why,  amongst  the  gay 
throng,  she  had  suddenly  seemed  to  lose  all  heart. 
She  was  impatient,  and  answered  him  petulantly. 
She  longed  for  him  to  go  away,  so  that  the  handsome 
Waldemar  Waldron  might  come  up  and  talk  to  her. 

It  was  quite  a  wonder  among  many  of  the  young 
ladies  to  see  Bernard  Chesleigh  present,  he  was  such  a 


"I  WARNED  YOU  AGAIXST  HIM.'' 


23 


recluse,,  and  there  were  those  who  seized  the  opportu- 
nity of  becoming  better  acquainted  with  him;  for  he 
was  handsome,  talented,  and  had  more  wealth  at  his 
command  than  half  a  dozen  of  the  wealthiest  men  of 
Harpers  Ferry  put  together.  He  was  considered  a 
great  jjarti. 

Reine  answered  his  questions  so  abruptly  that  per- 
haps he  quite  understood  her  desire  to  be  rid  of  him; 
for  when  Gertie  Traverse  came  up,  laughingly,  and  led 
him  away,  he  did  not  demur. 

An  hour  passed.  Chesleigh  kept  his  eyes  carefully 
upon  Reine,  from  whatever  part  of  the  grove  he  hap- 
pened to  be  in.  He  smiled  gravely  to  himself.  Any 
forebodings  that  Reine  and  Waldemar  Waldron  might 
take  a  fancy  to  each  other  were  groundless,  he 
thought;  they  were  not  even  attracted  toward  each 
other;  and  a  great  sigh  of  relief  trembled  over  his  lips, 
and,  thrown  otf  his  guard,  he  grew  less  watchful,  and 
wandered  oli  by  himself  to  enjoy  the  quiet  luxury  of  a 
cigar. 

Reine  was  surrounded  by  admirers,  but,  for  all  that, 
the  gay  lawn  fete  seemed  anything  but  enjoyable  to 
her.  Something  was  wanting.  At  last  she  saw 
Waldron  coming  toward  her.  Poor,  petted,  spoiled 
beauty!  she  felt  nothing  but  wonder  that  he  had  not 
sought  her  sooner.  Miss  Traverse  was  with  him;  she 
introduced  him  to  Reine,  then  flitted  away. 

He  held  out  his  white  hand  with  the  charming  grace 
he  had  such  perfect  mastery  of,  and  the  dazzling 
brown  eyes  that  looked  down  into  her  own  told  her 
more  eloquently  than  any  words  could  have  done  how 
pleased  he  was  to  see  her  again. 

"How  little  I  dreamed,  when  I  reluctantly  promised 
myself  to  come  here  to-day,  what  a  pleasure  was  in 
store  for  me.  I  have  met  you  again,'"  he  said.  "I 
have  tried  to  bear  in  mind  your  command  of  yesterday 
— that  no  one  was  to  know  of  your  adventure — conse- 
quently no  one  must  know  of  our  meeting.  I  longed 
to  come  to  you  when  I  first  saw  you  entering  the 
grounds;  prudence  forbade.  Everyone  must  believe 
us — strangers;  that  was  yesterday's  command.  I 
asked  Miss  Traverse  to  introduce  us." 


24 


A  FORBIDDEK  MARRIAGE. 


Eeine  breathed  easier.  Ah,  that  was  why  he  had 
avoided  her. 

"  You  were  kind  to  be  so  considerate/'  she  faltered, 
blushing  rosily  under  the  fire  of  his  magnetic  eyes. 

How  the  moments  flitted  by  as  he  stood  there  talk- 
ing to  her.  Eeine  never  remembered  time  to  have 
passed  so  quickly  before — or — so  pleasantly.  Mr. 
Waldron  was  certainly  a  delightful  companion. 

"Did  you  come  with  a  chaperone  ?"  he  inquired  at 
length. 

"  Mr.  Ohesleigh  escorted  me  here/'  she  answered. 

She  could  not  define  the  expression  that  flitted  over 
his  face,  but  it  seemed  very  like  annoyance.  He  mur- 
mured some  reply  which  she  did  not  quite  catch — she 
would  have  been  shocked  had  she  but  known  that  it 
was  a  fierce  imprecation  he  crushed  back  from  his 
moustached  lips. 

"I  did  not  know  but  what  your  father  brought  you 
here."  he  said,  quietly.  "I  should  like  to  meet  Gen- 
eral Hastings;  I  have  heard  so  much  of  him." 

"Have  you?"  said  Rene,  her  face  brightening 
pleasedly. 

"My  father  was  in  the  same  regiment  with  him," 
returned  Waldron,  "and  I  have  often  heard  him  re- 
count incidents  of  the  general's  bravery.  He  used  to 
say  that  the  country  needed  such  men,  that  he  was 
made  a  general  after  a  brilliant  action  in  which  he  had 
shown  great  personal  valor  and  had  saved  the  troops 
from  a  crushing  disaster.  There  was  not  a  man  on  the 
field  who  would  not  have  risked  his  life  for  the  brave 
commander  who  led  them  into  the  thickest  of  the 
battle,  himself  in  the  foreground  to  the  last. 

"  I  shall  remind  papa  that  the  son  of  an  old  comrade 
is  living  so  near  us,"  said  Reine,  "and  I  am  sure  he 
will  be  glad  to  welcome  you  to  Faiiiawn  for  your 
father's  sake  and — and  for  your  own,"  she  added, 
coloring  a  little. 

"  Do  not  mention  it,  I  beg  of  you,"  returned  Wal- 
dron, hastily;  adding,  with  a  note  of  sorrow  in  his 
voice,  "Our  fathers  were  not  the  best  of  friends,  Miss 
Hastings.  They  disagreed  over  a  trifling  matter,  and 
never  met  again  to  become  reconciled,  my  father  going 


"i  WARXED  YOU  AGAINST  HLtf. 


33 


abroad.  In  the  first  heat  of  memory  which  might  be 
bitter,  the  general  might  forbid  our  acquaintance. 
Ah,  Miss  Hastings,  do  not  do  anything  that  might  dis- 
turb that." 

Eeine  looked  greatly  embarrassed;  she  hardly  knew 
what  answer  to  make  to  that  direct  appeal. 

"  I  should  like  the  general  to  meet  me  casually/'  he 
went  on:  "then  I  should  have  no  fear  of  his  disliking 
me:  I  should  endeavor  in  every  possible  way  to  wiu  his 
esteem/" 

"  He  will  be  sure  to  like  you,"  said  Reine,  so  ear- 
nestly, that  this  man  of  the  world  worldly  could 
scarcely  refrain  from  laughing  outright. 

"Thank  you  for  thinking  so/'  he  said  gallantly, 
raising  his  straw  hat  with  a  very  low  bow,  which  did 
not  fail  to  make  due  impression  upon  his  companion. 

"  Shall  we  walk  down  toward  the  river  ? "  he  asked; 
"it  might  be  pleasant er  than  standing  here."  He 
thought  he  had  observed  Chesleigh  from  a  distance 
coming  in  that  direction. 

Eeine  readily  consented. 

"Do  you  know,  Miss  Hastings,  I  had  quite  made  up 
my  mind  to  return  to  Xew  York  two  days  ago,  and  was 
on  the  point  of  concluding  my  arrangements  on  the 
day  I  saw  you?  " 

Before  she  could  reply  he  went  on:  "  Xow  I  have 
determined  to  tarry  a  little  longer  at  the  Towers.  "' 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  not  going  so  very  soon,'5  she  re- 
plied, casting  her  eyes  down,  and  twisting  at  the  blue 
turquoise  ring  she  wore  on  her  slim,  white  hand;  she 
was  wondering  if  his  meeting  with  her  had  anything  to 
do  with  changing  his  decision. 

It  was  so  beautiful  far  down  in  the  deep  green 
glades:  the  sunlight  danced  bright  and  golden  through 
the  thick  foliage:  the  ground  beneath  their  feet  was  a 
carpet  of  wild-flowers,  bluebells,  pale  strawberry  blos- 
soms, and  purple  fox-gloves.  Overhead,  where  the 
thick  branches  met,  the  birds  were  singing  as  though 
love  and  hope  were  dawning  for  them. 

It  is  not  very  difficult  for  a  young  and  handsome 
man,  of  the  world  worldly,  to  make  himself  extremely 
fascinating  to  a  young  and  inexperienced  girl  of  six- 


26 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


teen.  Waldemar  Waldron,  although  but  four-and- 
twenty,  was  well  skilled  in  the  ways  of  winning  femi- 
nine hearts.  Young  girls  were  always  interested  in 
him  for  the  sake  of  his  fair,  handsome  face.  The 
moments  sped  like  a  golden  dream  to  Keine. 

He  had  a  fund  of  poetic  lore  at  his  tongue's  end;  he 
knew  how  to  imbue  the  lines  with  a  tender  cadence, 
that  made  the  girl's  heart  thrill  with  ecstatic  pleasure. 
Under  the  guise  of  poetry,  he  could  put  into  eloquent 
language  words  that  he  could  hardly  have  repeated  to 
her  otherwise. 

She  had  been  talking  to  Waldemar  Waldron  quite 
half  an  hour  before  Bernard  Chesleigh  missed  her  and 
discovered  her  whereabouts.  He  came  swiftly  toward 
her,  alarm  on  his  face.  To  him,  seeing  Keine  stand- 
ing there  was  like  seeing  a  beautiful  bird  in  the  most 
deadly  peril. 

It  was  like  a  cold,  chill  shock  to  Reine  when  she  saw 
Bernard  Chesleigh  advancing  through  the  trees.  Why 
couldn't  he  stay  away?  Why  must  he  interrupt  so 
charming  a  tete-a-tete?  She  was  enjoying  herself  s© 
well.  She  could  scarcely  conceal  her  pique  and  an- 
noyance. 

At  the  sound  of  the  swift,  approaching  footsteps, 
Waldemar  Waldron  turned  nonchalantly  around;  but 
when  he  saw  who  the  intruder  was,  his  face  paled. 
Yet  a  flash  of  defiance  leaped  into  his  eyes  as  the  gaze 
of  the  two  young  men  met,  and  held  each  other  for 
one  brief  instant. 

"Mr.  Chesleigh/'  said  Reine,  flushing  and  smiling, 
"allow  me  to  present  you  to — " 

Bernard  Chesleigh  held  up  his  white  hand  with  a 
quick  gesture. 

"  I  will  spare  you  that  trouble  by  saying  that  we 
have  met  before,"  he  said,  sternly.  "  Will  you  take 
my  arm,  Miss  Reine?"  he  said,  ignoring  Heine's  com- 
panion completely.  "The  refreshments  are  being 
served." 

Waldemar  Waldron  raised  his  straw  hat,  and  with  a 
smile  and  a  bow,  for  which  Bernard  Chesleigh  could 
have  annihilated  him,  he  walked  away,  and  there  was 
nothing  else  to  do  but  walk  back  beside  Bernard  to  the 


"I  "WARNED  YOU  AGATXST  HIM." 


21 


merry  throng  gathered  around  the  white  cloth  which 
was  being  laid;  but  she  was  too  bitterly  angry  to  take 
the  arm  proffered  her. 

"Why  were  you  so  uncivil  to  the  young  gentleman 
who  just  left  us,  Mr.  Chesleigh?  "  she  cried,  resent- 
fully.   "Indeed,  you  treated  him  most  shamefully." 

"  I  deny  that  young  man's  right  to  the  honorable 
title  of  gentleman,"  replied  Bernard,  warmly.  "  Oh, 
Heine,"  he  cried,  "  I  warn  you  against  him.  Do  not 
trust  him.  If  I  saw  you  engulfed  in  a  cloud  of  con- 
suming flame,  or  about  to  fall  in  a  horrible  pit,  I 
should  spring  forward  to  save  you.  If  I  saw  you 
stretching  out  your  white  hands  toward  a  sharp  sword 
that  would  wound  you,  I  should  warn  you.  Yet  none 
of  these  things  are  as  dangerous  as  the  danger  that 
lurks  in  the  smile  of  the  man  from  whom  you  have 
just  parted/''' 

"  I  do  not  believe  it,"  cried  Eeine  hotly.  "Mr. 
Waldron  is  one  of  the  most  perfect  gentlemen  whom  I 
have  ever  met." 

"It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  you  could  discrimi- 
nate between  a  gentleman  and  a  rascal,"  replied  Ches- 
leigh gravely,  quietly.  "You  have  never  been  brought 
in  contact  with  wickedness,  or  the  people  steeped  in 
it.  I  thank  Heaven  it  is  a  sealed  book  to  you,  Reine. 
Take  my  word  for  it,  that  man  is  not  a  person  for  you 
to  know." 


CHAPTER  IV. 


A  FATAL  WOOING. 

Reine  Hastings  flashed  her  companion  a  glance  of 
withering  scorn.  How  cruel  of  him  to  traduce  the 
handsome  stranger  behind  his  back.  It  was  unmanly. 
Girl-like,  the  more  Bernard  said  against  him,  the  more 
of  a  hero  cruelly  slandered  Waldemar  Waldron  became 
in  her  eyes. 

"  If  I  answer  you  we  shall  quarrel,  Mr.  Chesleigh," 
she  said,  and  he  was  bewildered  by  what  he  saw  in  her 
face.  A  terrible  fear  came  to  him  that  chilled  his 
heart.  Had  his  warning  to  beautiful,  impulsive  Reine 
been  given  too  late? 

The  fete  wound  up  with  a  merry  half  hour  of  danc- 
ing under  the  light  of  the  gleaming  swinging  lamps, 
and  the  silvery  light  of  the  golden  stars. 

As  soon  as  the  band  struck  up  the  strains  of  a  waltz, 
to  Bernard  Chesleigh's  dismay,  AYaldemar  Waldron 
crossed  over  to  where  Reine  was  sitting,  and  the  next 
moment  they  were  whirling  aw7ay  together  amid  the 
gay  throng. 

"I  wish  this  waltz  would  never  end,  Miss  Hast- 
ings," he  whispered.  "  This  is  the  happiest  hour  of 
my  life.  Would  that  the  future  could  be  like  this;  " 
and  he  was  quite  satisfied  with  the  impression  he  had 
made  when  he  saw  the  girPs  cheeks  flush,  the  blue 
eyes  droop  beneath  his  ardent,  eloquent  glance,  and 
felt  the  little  hand  tremble  in  his  clasp. 

At  that  moment  both  glanced  up  and.  caught  sight 
of  Bernard  Chesleigh's  white,  set  face. 

"  Mr.  Chesleigh,  your  escort,  does  not  appear  to  like 
me/'  he  said.  "  He  appears  angry  because  you  have 
been  so  kind  as  to  dance  with  me.  Has  he  any  right  to 
direct  your  actions?"  he  asked,  with  eager  intentness. 

28 


A  FATAL  WOOING. 


20 


"Any  right!"  echoed  Reine.  "No.  Why  should 
he?" 

The  answer  so  unhesitatingly  given  relieved  Walde- 
mar  Waldron's  mind  wonderfully.  He  saw  that  Ber- 
nard Chesleigh  loved  Heine;  but  she  was  utterly  un- 
conscious of  it.  She  gave  him  only  formal  friendship 
in  return. 

He  had  no  chance  of  saying  good  night  to  Reine — 
Bernard  Chesleigh  was  too  watchful  for  that — but  he 
promised  himself  that  he  should  see  Reine  soon  again. 
Although  he  haunted  the  shaded  road  where  she 
would  be  likely  to  ride,  and  the  green,  flower-strewn 
glades  where  she  might  walk,  a  week  passed  and  he 
had  not  caught  so  much  as  a  glimpse  of  General  Hast- 
ings daughter. 

Had  he  made  less  of  an  impression  upon  her  than  he 
had  imagined?  He  had  been  so  certain  of  meeting 
her;  or  was  she  kept  in  close  surveillance  under  the 
watchful  eyes  of  a  stern  papa? 

Waldemar  Waldron  was  determined  to  find  out. 

He  dared  not  call  openly  at  Fairlawn  and  ask  for 
Miss  Reine,  but  he  laid  his  plans  to  lay  siege  to  the 
girl's  heart  in  a  most  adroit  manner.  He  wrote  the 
most  charming  of  notes,  and  by  bribing  one  of  the 
maids,  succeeded  in  having  it  conveyed  to  Reine  in 
an  odorous  bouquet. 

How  deliciously  romantic!  How  Heine's  heart 
throbbed  as  she  read  the  ardent  missive  that  told  how 
he  had  watched  and  waited  for  her  in  vain.  Would 
she  permit  him  to  call  upon  her  at  Fairlawn?  He 
would  be  so  pleased  to  meet  her  again.  If  she  would 
write  him  just  a  single  line  to  let  him  know  that  she 
was  well,  he  would  be  so  grateful.  She  could  place  it 
in  the  hollow  of  the  old  oak  tree  that  stood  at  the 
right  angle  of  the  park  that  skirted  Fairlawn. 

The  very  romance  connected  with  the  novel  idea 
captivated  Reine's  girlish  fancy. 

The  next  day  Waldemar  Waldron  received  his  an- 
swer, but  she  did  not  tell  him  that  the  general  had 
forbidden  her  to  drive  or  walk  beyond  the  grounds  of 
Fairlawn  without  the  escort  of  the  stolid  old  footman, 
and  that  in  her  anger  she  had  declared  she  would  not 


30 


A  FOBBIDDEK  MARRIAGE. 


go  at  all  if  she  was  to  be  followed  by  a  lackey.  The 
general  had  given  as  a  reason  that  the  country  about 
was  infested  by  tramps.  She  never  dreamed  that  the 
true  reason  was  Bernard  Chesleigh  had  told  the  general 
that,  as  they  had  feared,  the  heir  of  Waldron  Towers 
had  been  at  the  fete,  and  how  infatuated  he  had  ap- 
peared to  be  with  Reine. 

General  Hastings  listened  in  silence. 

"She  may  have  espoused  the  young  man's  cause 
when  you  warned  her  against  him,  Chesleigh/'  he  said. 
"  Young  girls  have  a  penchant  for  being  on  the  con- 
trary side.  Ten  to  one  she'll  never  think  of  him 
again.  Still,  it  would  be  as  well  to  nip  such  an  affair 
in  the  bud.  She  shall  not  go  out  without  an  attend- 
ant; so  she'll  not  be  likely  to  meet  this  gay  Lothario 
again." 

But  love  laughs  at  the  stern  decree  of  wise  parents 
as  well  as  locksmiths,  as  we  have  seen;  and  the  pink- 
tinted  note  that  found  its  way  to  Reine,  hidden  among 
the  flowers,  was  followed  by  many  more  such  missives, 
which  found  their  way  back  and  forth  through  the 
agency  of  the  hollow  oak  tree. 

Wooing  by  letter  has  a  charm  about  it  peculiarly  its 
own,  so  much  more  can  be  said  by  the  pen  than  the 
lips  can  utter;  and  then  young  girls  have  the  habit  of 
reading  and  rereading  them  till  they  know  every  ten- 
derly expressed  thought  by  heart. 

They  were  Reine's  first  love-letters,  for  they  grew  to 
be  that;  and  the  enforced  separation  which  she  was 
obliged  to  submit  to  only  increased  the  flame  in  her 
rebellious  little  heart.  And  when  Waldemar  pleaded 
that  he  must  see  her  soon  and  gain  her  consent  to  ask- 
ing her  -father  a  very  important  question,  her  own 
heart  acceded  eagerly. 

"Let  me  see  you,  Reine,  if  but  for  a  few  brief 
moments,  at  the  old  oak  tree,  to-night,"  he  wrote. 
"I  will  be  there  at  seven  sharp." 

It  could  not  be  so  very  wrong  to  grant  him  a  few 
short  moments,  Reine  told  herself.  A  meeting  at  the 
old  trysting-place,  seen  through  the  warm  haze  of  a 
young  girl's  fancy,  was  delightfully  romantic.  Reine 
went.    She  could  stay  but  a  few  moments,  however, 


a  fatal  woorara. 


31 


for  her  father  had  sent  her  a  message  after  tea  that  he 
wanted  to  see  her  in  the  library  that  evening,  at  eight. 

How  handsome  TTaldemar  Waldron  looked  as  he 
advanced  eagerly  in  the  moonlight  to  meet  her.  He 
had  quite  made  up  his  mind  to  win  her.  Heine's 
fresh,  young  beauty  charmed  him.  He  loved  her 
quite  as  much  as  he  was  capable  of  loving.  He  had 
vowed  to  wrest  her  from  Bernard  Chesleigh,  his  mortal 
foe.  And  last,  but  by  no  means  the  least,  she  was 
heiress  to  a  million.  What  man  would  wish  a  fairer 
prize? 

He  knew  there  would  be  a  battle  to  fight  before  he 
gained  Eeine  Hastings  for  his  bride.  He  had  sown 
more  wild  oats  than  were  usually  allotted  to  young 
men,  and  he  had  reaped  the  whirlwind  for  a  harvest. 
He  knew  that  he  would  never  have  been  received  as  a 
guest  at  Fairlawn  by  the  old  general.  Bernard  Ches- 
leigh  knew  enough  about  him  to  interfere  with  that. 
So  no  other  way  of  winning  fair  Eeine  was  left  him 
save  through  the  adorable  letters  he  knew  so  well  how 
to  write.    e~  All  was  fair  in  love  and  war/* 

"  You  can  give  me  only  a  few  brief  moments, 
Eeine?"  he  said,  reproachfully.  ''-'How  shall  I  tell 
you  all  I  have  to  say,  in  so  short  a  time?  The  words  I 
would  utter  would  fill  volumes.  '' 

He  clasped  the  little  white  hand,  bending  his  hand- 
some head  over  it,  and  the  beautiful  story,  so  old  and 
sweet,  that  young  girls  love  to  listen  to  so  well — the 
story  that  had  been  so  charmingly  told  in  a  score  or 
more  of  letters,  in  an  hundred  different  ways — was 
breathed  again  in  eloquent,  passionate  words. 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  startled  eyes,  crimson 
flushes  coming  and  going  on  her  dimpled  face.  But 
she  loved  him.  The  artless,  girlish  replies  to  his 
letters  had  told  him  that  long  ago. 

Her  golden  head  drooped.  She  tried  to  speak,  but 
her  lovely  lips  trembled  with  all  a  young  girl's  coy 
bashfulness. 

"  You  do  care  for  me,  Eeine,"  he  whispered.  "  Look 
up  and  tell  me  so.  Tell  me  that,  and  nothing  shall 
ever  part  us.  You  will  be  mine  in  life,  mine  in 
death,  mine  through  eternity.    Say  that  you  love  me, 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


Reine,  and  will  be  my  bride,  and  to-morrow  I  will 
come  and  ask  your  father  for  this  dear  little  hand. 
He  may  censure  our  wooing,  yet  it  could  not  have 
been  tenderer,  sweeter.  He  may  hold  out  against  us 
at  first,  but  when  he  finds  out  how  well  we  love  each 
other,  he  will  yield  in  the  end." 

She  did  not  shrink  from  his  caresses,  for  Reine  Hast- 
ings, the  general's  lovely  daughter,  had  learned  to  love 
Waldemar  Waldron  with  all  her  heart.  She  sat  with 
him  under  the  trees,  listening  to  his  words  of  love,  so 
unutterably  happy,  and  the  answer  she  made  him  must 
have  pleased  him,  for  his  eyes  blazed  with  triumph. 

Yes,  she  had  promised  to'  be  his  bride. 

"  They  may  try  to  part  us,  Reine,"  he  said,  "they 
may  calumniate  me,  and  try  to  vilify  me  in  your  eyes; 
but  you  will  be  true  to  me  through  good  or  evil  report 
— true  to  me,  if  we  lose  the  whole  world  beside,"  he 
went  on,  anxiously  and  eagerly. 

"Why  should  any  one  wish  to  part  us?"  asked 
Reine. 

"  I  will  tell  you,  my  darling,"  he  answered,  with  an 


Hastings'  heiress,  rich  in  this  world's  goods,  while  I 
am  comparatively  poor.  They  will  say  I  am  no  match 
for  you — that  you  are  expected  to  marry  brilliantly." 

Reine  laughed,  thinking  how  little  weight  money 
would  have  with  her  father  in  considering  her  hap- 
piness. Why,  he  had  never  denied  his  motherless 
daughter  anything  that  she  had  really  set  her  mind  on 
in  all  her  bright  young  life.    He  would  not  do  so  now. 

"We  shall  have  trouble,  Reine,"  he  said.  "Iam 
sure  we  will  have  trouble  in  gaining  your  father's  con- 
sent. But  with  you  on  my  side — if  you  stand  by  me 
firmly — he  will  not  hold  out  against  us  long.  I  will 
come  to  Fairlawn  to-morrow  morning,  Reine,  and  see 


The  great  bell  in  an  adjacent  belfry  rang  out  the 
hour  of  eight  in  measured  strokes,  and  the  lovers 
parted  hastily. 

He  to  go  slowly  back  to  Waldron  Towers,  trium- 
phant over  his  prospects  of  the  future;  she  to  hurry 
back  to  the  house  to  keep  her  appointment  with  her 


sorrow. 


"  You  are  General 


him." 


A  FATAL  WOOING. 


33 


father  in  the  library,  her  throbbing  heart  in  a  whirl, 
the  glamor  of  love's  beautiful  dream  enfolding  her. 

General  Hastings  was  pacing  up  and  down  the  room 
when  she  entered.  She  went  up  to  him  swiftly,  clasp- 
ing her  arms  about  him,  hiding  the  tell-tale,  blushing 
face  in  his  breast. 

Should  she  tell  him  of  her  love  for  Waldemar  Wal- 
dron  ere  she  left  him,  and  plead  with  him  to  receive 
her  handsome  young  lover  kindly  on  the  morrow? 
She  would  wait  and  see  first  why  he  had  sent  for  her. 

"  You  wanted  me,  papa,  dear,"  she  said,  "  yet  you 
seem  in  no  hurry  to  tell  me  what  you  want  of  me." 

The  general  smiled.  How  impetuous  his  beautiful 
darling  was.  He  seated  himself  in  his  favorite  arm- 
chair, and  drew  her  down  to  a  hassock  at  his  knee, 
where  he  could  have  a  full  view  of  her  face.  How 
blue  her  eyes  were,  and  how  crimson  the  laughing  lips. 

"  I  have  sent  for  you  to  talk  over  your  future  with 
you,  my  Reine,"  he  said,  stroking  her  curling,  golden 
hair.  "  That  has  happened  to-day  which  may  change 
my  plans  for  you  entirely.  I  have  discovered  that 
some  one  loves  my  darling  very  much." 

Reine  sprang  to  her  feet,  breathless  with  excite- 
ment: the  deep  blushes  glowing  and  burning  her  dim- 
pled cheeks,  her  breast  heaving.  * 

Had  Waldemar  been  to  her  father  already,  and 
wished  to  surprise  her?  She  looked  anxiously  into  his 
face. 

Where  was  the  stern  anger  her  lover  had  pictured  to 
her — the  opposition? 

He  was  smiling  down  into  her  face,  and  there  was  a 
merry  twinkle  in  his  fond  eyes,  as  though  he  were  well 
pleased. 

"  I  have  discovered  that  some  one  loves  my  Reine 
very  much,"  repeated  the  general,  "and  wishes  to  wed 
my  daughter  if  she  will  look  with  favor  upon  his  suit. 
Although  it  has  been  kept  very  slyly  from  me,  as  the 
young  man  supposed;  yet  old  eyes  are  keen.  I  dis- 
covered his  love  for  my  Reine  some  little  time  since." 

"  Oh,  papa,  how  in  the  world  did  you  find  it  out  so 
cleverly?"  faltered  Reine,  half  sobbing,  half  laughing 
in  delightful  girlish  confusion.  "We  thought — -I 
3 


n 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


thought — you  might  be  angry  if  you  knew,  and  I  was 
almost  afraid  to  tell  you,  yet  I  really  never  meant  to 
keep  it  a  secret  from  you,  papa." 

"  I  discovered  his  love  for  you,  my  dear,  some  weeks 
ago,"  said  the  general,  "and  although  I  watched  you 
closely,  I  could  never  feel  quite  certain  that  you  cared 
for  him.  He  is  a  noble  young  man,  my  child — the 
one  I  should  have  chosen  for  you  above  all  others.  I 
can  die  content,  knowing  that  you  will  have  such  a 
protector.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  my  dear,  this  is  the 
very  thing  I  have  wished  for  all  along.  I  was  too  well 
versed  in  the  contrary  ways  of  girls'  hearts,  though, 
to  even  suggest  such  a  thing  to  you.  Then  you  do 
love  him,  my  dear?"  questioned  the  general,  ear- 
nestly. "  I  must  hear  it  from  your  own  lips  before  I 
give  him  his  answer." 

"  Yes,  I  love  him,  papa,"  sobbed  Heine.  "I  love 
him  with  all  my  heart.  Life  would  be  nothing  to  me 
without  his  love.  Oh,  I  care  for  him  so  much,  papa — 
more  than  all  the  world — except  you." 

The  old  general  looked  at  his  daughter  in  wonder. 
He  had  always  thought  of  her  as  a  dream iug  child, 
knowing  as  little  of  life,  or  love,  as  the  brilliant  but- 
terflies that  flitted  among  the  roses.  He  was  amazed 
to  discover  the  mighty,  passionate  love  that  beat  in 
her  breast. 

He  raised  her  quickly  in  his  arms,  kissing  solemnly 
her  smiling,  tearful  face. 

"  The  one  prayer  of  my  life  is  granted,  Heine.  You 
love  the  man  whom  it  has  been  my  secret  wish  to  see 
your  husband,  and  he  loves  you.  You  both  have  my 
hearty  consent  and  my  blessing. 

6 ( He  is  in  the  next  room,  my  darling,  waiting  with 
all  a  young  lover's  impatience  to  learn  from  me  what 
your  answer  is.  I  will  bid  him  come  in,"  said  the 
general,  rising  hastily. 

Reine's  heart  gave  a  great,  fluttering  throb;  her 
lover  beneath  the  very  same  roof  with  her,  in  the  very 
next  room,  and  so  soon  to  be  with  her — oh,  joy,  joy! 
She  sank  down  in  her  father's  great  arm-chair,  cover- 
ing her  flushed,  happy  face  with  her  hands,  trembling 


A  FATAL  WOOING. 


35 


with  excitement.  Ah,  how  cruel  of  Waldemar  to  jest 
with  her  so. 

She  caught  her  breath,  with  a  little  suppressed  cry 
of  joy,  when  she  heard  the  library  door  open.  Her 
lovely  head  drooped  lower;  she  could  not  raise  her  eyes 
to  her  lovers  face,  while  her  father  stood  watching 
them. 

"My  dear  boy,"  cried  the  general,  heartily,  "'my 
child  has  confessed  to  me  that  she  returns  your  love. 
In  giving  her  to  you,  the  one  wish  of  my  heart  is 
brought  about — take  her  and  be  happy.  Yon  both 
have  my  blessing." 

The  general  led  him  over  to  where  his  daughter  sat. 
He  knelt  at  her  feet:  then  Eeine  shyly  raised  her 
blushing  face  from  her  trembling  hands. 

The  next  instant  a  piercing  scream  rang  through  the 
room — a  cry  that  chilled  and  froze  the  hearts  of  those 
who  heard  it.  Eeine  staggered  back — a  look  of  horror 
on  her  white  face — a  gasp  of  agony,  pitiful  to  hear  in 
her  young  voice. 

"Oh,  papa!  papa!  there  has  been  some  horrible 
mistake,"  she  gasped.  "I — oh,  it  is  not  Mr.  Ches- 
leigh  whom  I  love.    I — oh,  it  is  some  one  else!" 

The  shock  was  so  great  that  it  would  have  killed  a 
weaker  man  than  Bernard  Chesleigh — he  loved  her  so. 
She  sprang  to  her  fathers  side  like  a  wounded  bird, 
and  knelt  at  his  feet. 

"Forgive  me,  papa,'7  she  said:  "I  cannot  be  Mr. 
Chesleiglrs  bride.    To-morrow  you  will  know  why." 


CHAPTER  V. 


"I  WOULD   EATHEE   SEE   MY  DAUGHTEE  DEAD  THAN 
GIVE  HEE  TO  YOU." 

Geneeal  Hastings  and  Bernard  Chesleigh  had  lis- 
tened in  amazement  to  Heine's  incoherent  words  with- 
out comprehending  their  import  in  the  least;  neither 
of  them  sought  to  detain  her  as  she  fled  desperately 
from  the  room. 

"I  am  literally  astounded!"  gasped  the  general. 
'■  The  little  witch  confessed  to  me  that  she  loved  you, 
Chesleigh,  scarcely  five  minutes  since.  I  confess  the 
ways  of  women  are  a  mystery  to  me;  I  do  not  under- 
stand the  sex — my  own  daughter  included.  I  suppose 
they  all  have  the  trick  of  refusing  a  man  in  order  to 
be  coaxed  and  pleaded  with;  depend  upon  that." 

"  Do  you  really  take  that  view  of  the  case,  Gen- 
eral? "  asked  the  young  man,  brightening  up. 

'■'  Of  course,"  declared  the  general,  heartily.  "You 
know  its  all  stuff  and  nonsense  about  her  caring  for 
any  one  else.  She  has  never  had  a  lover  in  her  life — 
excepting  yourself.  The  sly  puss  as  much  as  told  you 
to  see  her  to-morrow  about  the  matter;  and  if  you  are 
a  courageous,  dauntless  wooer,  my  word  for  it,  you  will 
win  in  the  end." 

"  I  hope  so,  sir,"  responded  Chesleigh,  fervently. 

The  entrance  of  one  of  the  servants  interrupted  fur- 
ther conversation,  and  Bernard  slowly  quitted  the  li- 
brary. 

Reine  did  not  appear  at  the  breakfast  table  the  next 
morning;  she  sent  word  by  the  housekeeper,  Mrs. 
Dent,  that  she  had  a  severe  headache  and  could  not 
come  down. 

Bernard  Cheslei^h's  face  paled.  "Was  it  because  she 
would  not  meet  him,  after  what  had  passed  the  pre- 

36 


"I  WOULD  RATHER  SEE  MY  DAUGHTER  DEAD."  37 


vious  evening  in  the  library?  The  general's  broad 
smile  and  twinkling  eyes  reassured  him,  however,  and 
helped  to  re-establish  his  composure. 

"  She  is  only  trying  your  patience,  my  dear  boy,"  he 
said,  confidently.  "  Eemember,  *'a  faint  heart  never 
won  fair  lady/  " 

Bernard  sent  up  a  beautiful  bouquet  of  fragrant 
roses  that  he  had  gathered  in  the  garden  himself  for 
Keine,  with  sincere  regrets  that  she  was  indisposed, 
and  begging  if  she  were  better  that  she  would  grant 
him  but  a  few  short  moments  before  the  luncheon 
hour. 

"  Tell  him  I  can't  see  him,  Mrs.  Dent/'  said  Eeine, 
piteously;  and  the  housekeeper  was  startled  at  the 
white  face  the  young  girl  turned  toward  her.  She 
noticed,  too,  how  carelessly  the  fragrant  rosebuds  were 
tossed  upon  the  marble  table,  to  wither  away  quite 
unheeded. 

"  Hadn't  you  better  lie  down  and  rest  .awhile,  Miss 
Eeine?"  said  the  housekeeper,  persuasively.  ''Your 
two  cheeks  are  like  fire,  and  your  eyes  unnaturally 
bright." 

Eeine  did  not  even  appear  to  hear  her;  she  was 
standing  at  the  window,  watching  the  main  road  so 
intently,  her  little  hands  clasped  tightly  over  her 
heart. 

At  last  her  weary  vigil  was  rewarded;  she  saw  her 
lover  hastily  approaching.  He  saw  the  lovely  face 
pressed,  flushed  and  eager,  against  the  window  pane: 
and  raising  his  hat  with  a  reassuring  smile,  he  passed 
out  of  her  sight.  The  next  moment  the  resounding 
peal  of  the  front  door  bell  rang  through  the  house. 

A  moment  more  and  the  library  door  opened  and 
closed  again,  and  she  knew  that  her  lover  was  ushered 
into  her  father's  presence. 

Oh,  how  her  heart  beat  !  She  would  have  given  the 
world  to  have  known  what  was  passing  between  them. 
How  slowly  the  moments  dragged  themselves  by. 

"  Would  her  father  call  her  down?  "  she  wondered. 

With  trembling  hands  she  re-arranged  the  wrhite 
lace  at  her  dainty  throat,  and  the  wood  violets  that 
nestled  on  her  breast,  for  the  twentieth  time;  but  no 
summons  came  for  her. 


A  FORBIDDEN"  MARRIAGE. 


She  could  hear  the  indistinct  hum  of  voices  in  the 
library,  and  she  knew  by  that  that  Waldemar  was  still 
with  her  father. 

You  and  I  will  go  back  a  little,  reader,  and  witness 
the  meeting  between  General  Hastings  and  his  daugh- 
ter's suitor. 

Waldemar  Waldron  had  walked  boldly  up  the  mar- 
ble steps,  and  rang  the  bell  with  a  firm  touch. 

"Take  this  to  General  Hastings,"  he  said  to  the 
servant  who  answered  the  summons,  producing  his 
card.  "  Tell  him  I  wish  to  see  him  on  a  very  partic- 
ular errand,  and  I  trust  he  will  courteously  grant  me  a 
few  moments'  time." 

The  general  read  the  name  engraved  upon  the  bit  of 
pasteboard  in  astonishment. 

"What  can  Waldemar  Waldron  want  of  me?"  he 
wondered,  impatiently. 

He  received  the  young  man  coldly,  indicating  a  seat, 
and  after  a  few  brief  words  of  formal  greeting,  the 
general  inquired  what  Mr.  Waldron's  business  was 
with  him. 

It  all  came  out  then,  and  words  are  weak  to  describe 
the  generaFs  intense  anger  and  dismay. 

"  I  have  told  you  everything  now,  sir,"  said  Walde- 
mar Waldron,  calmly,  "and  I  come  to  you  to  sue  for 
the  dear  hand  of  your  daughter,  Seine." 

He  had  made  his  plea,  and  waited  for  the  answer. 
He  had  expected  anger,  but  he  was  wholly  unprepared 
for  the  terrible  burst  of  passion  to  which  the  old  law- 
yer gave  way.  N"o  hurricane  could  have  been  fiercer. 
The  storm  burst,  and  he  began  in  a  voice  of  such  with- 
ering scorn  and  bitter  contempt  that  the  young  man 
looked  in  wonder  and  alarm  at  the  general,  who  shook 
with  such  furious  rage,  and  whose  face  was  fairly  livid. 
There  was  little  to  be  hoped  from  Heine's  father,  and 
there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  sit  there  quietly  while 
the  tempest  he  had  evoked  raged  on. 

"You  a6k  for  my  daughter — you!  "  he  cried — "a 
New  York  roue  and  villain  of  the  deepest  dye!  I 
know  all  about  you.  Why,  man,  you  are  mad  to  think 
I  would  give  you  my  lovely  young  daughter!  " 

"It  is  a  very  common   madness,  sir,"  responded 


"I  WOULD  BATHER  SEE  MY  DAUGHTER  DEAD/'  3'J 

Waldemar  Waldron,  striving  to  keep  back  his  anger  at 
the  bitter  epithets  the  exasperated  old  millionaire 
hurled  at  him.  "  I  love  your  daughter,  and  I  ask  you 
to  give  her  to  me." 

"And  I  refuse!"  roared  the  general.  "  I  would 
rather  see  her  dead  and  buried  than  wedded  to  you — 
yes,  dead!  with  her  blue  eyes  closed,  and  her  little 
white  hands  crossed  over  her  pure  breast.  You 
were  a  dastard  to  creep  into  her  innocent  heart 
through  letters  smuggled  to  her  without  my  knowl- 
edge and  consent.  I  understand  you.  You  dared  not 
boldly  present  yourself  here  as  my  daughter's  wooer  ; 
and  your  motive,  too,  in  laying  siege  to  her  heart  is 
clear  to  me.  Love!  Bah!  such  a  man  as  you  are  has 
forgotten  the  meaning  of  pure,  innocent  love  years 
ago.  You  had  an  eye  to  my  poor  child's  prospective 
wealth."- 

"I  am  poor,  compared  to  what  your  daughter  is 
worth,  I  admit;  but  it  is  not  her  money  I  want,  sir,  it 
is  herself.  I  can  work  for  my  wife,"  replied  Walde- 
mar Waldron,  haughtily. 

"You  work! — You!"  cried  the  general,  scornfully. 
"Not  while  money  can  be  made  by  any  other  means. 
Now  listen  to  me,  young  man,  and  heed  well  my 
words,"  cried  the  old  millionaire,  his  anger  increasing 
with  every  word:  "  If  my  daughter  were  to  marry  you, 
I  would  cut  her  off  without  a  shilling.  She  should 
never  have  one  cent  of  my  money,  not  even  if  she  were 
starving!  Do  you  hear — starving!  I  tell  you,  you 
would  wed  a  penniless  girl — for  penniless  she  would 
be,  for  all  of  me,  until  the  day  she  died;  this  I  swear 
to  you,  and  men  of  my  race  never  break  an  oath.  Let 
us  end  this,  Mr.  Waldemar  Waldron.  I  refuse  you 
my  daughter.  Never  dare  to  see  her  or  write  to  her 
again.  Let  this  be  the  winding  up  of  this  so-called 
love  affair." 

Waldemar  Waldron  looked  fixedly  at  the  enraged 
general. 

"  Have  you  thought  what  parting  us  might  mean 
for  your  daughter  as  well  as  myself?  Kemember  she 
loves  me — to  whom  she  has  plighted  her  troth — loves 
me  with  all  her  tender  heart," 


40 


A  FORBIDDBK  MARRIAGE. 


"  Do  not  dare  to  stand  there  and  tell  me  that! "  cried 
the  general,  clutching  at  his  cravat  as  if  to  tear  it  otf 
to  give  himself  more  room  to  breathe.  "  Do  not  dare 
to  say  it — you  madden  me!" 

"  But  she  does — indeed  she  does,  sir/'  persisted  the 
young  man.  "  Send  for  her  here  and  now,,  and  she 
will  tell  you  that  she  loves  me — " 

"  I  will  not  believe  it/'  exclaimed  the  old  man, 
bluntly.  "  Your  face  may  have  fascinated  her,  but 
she  could  not  love  you;  after  you  have  been  separated 
from  her  six  months  she  will  have  forgotten  all  about 
you.  You  have  broken  the  heart  of  many  a  trusting 
young  girl,  but  you  shall  never  break  my  Eeine's.  Go, 
now,  Mr.  Waldron;  please  consider  this  very  unpleas- 
ant interview  at  an  end." 

"  I  will  go,  sir/'  said  Waldemar  Waldron,  "but  the 
time  may  come  when  you  will  perhaps  recall  me. 
Fathers  have  done  more  than  that  before  now  to  save 
a  beloved  daughter's  heart  from  breaking." 

"Better  die  of  a  broken  heart  than  live  as  your 
wife,"  said  the  general,  sternly:  but  his  face  whitened 
under  the  young  man's  words. 

The  general  pointed  to  the  door. 

"Leave  my  house,"  he  said,  passionately,  "and  if 
you  are  wise  you  will  leave  the  neighborhood.  I  know 
that  about  you  which  would  make  your  stay  in  this 
neighborhood  disagreeably  unsafe.  I  will  give  you 
twenty-four  hours  to  leave  it.  If  I  find  you  are  still 
here  at  the  expiration  of  that  time,  I  will  telegraph  on 
to  New  York,  and  ask  if  Waldemar  Waldron  is  wanted 
there.  One  broken-hearted  girl  would  find  an  answer 
to  that." 

"As  you  will  it,"  returned  Waldemar  Waldron,  with 
defiant  haughtiness.  "It  seems  useless  for  me  to 
attempt  to  refute  the  charges  you  insist  upon  bringing 
against  me.  I  leave  your  house  and  the  neighborhood. 
It  has  little  enough  attractions  for  me  now.  But,  if 
at  any  time  you  should  ever  want  to  recall  me,  I  leave 
you  my  address.  I  am  going  West,  to  Cincinnati.  A 
line  to  my  bankers  there  will  reach  me  at  any  time." 

He  placed  another  card  upon  the  table,  bearing  the 


"I  WOULD  EATHEE  SEE  MY  DAUGHTEE  DEAD."  41 

address  of  a  Western  banking  firm.  His  own  name 
was  written  beneath  it. 

"  I  shall  have  no  use  for  it,"  said  the  general,  sweep- 
ing it  into  his  waste-basket. 

Waldemar  Waldron  lifted  his  hat,  and  with  a  mock- 
ing smile  on  his  fair,  handsome  face,  turned  on  his 
heel  and  quitted  the  house. 

He  glanced  eagerly  up  to  Reine's  window  as  he 
passed  out  of  the  grounds,  but  he  did  not  see  Reine. 

She  was  pacing  restlessly  up  and  down  in  her  room, 
and  had  not  heard  the  hall  door  open  and  close  with  a 
bang  on  the  retreating  form  of  her  chagrined,  van- 
quished lover. 

He  had  been  gone  some  time  ere  she  noticed  that  the 
hum  of  voices  had  ceased  in  the  library.  She  listened 
intently  for  more  than  half  an  hoar.  All  was  still  as 
death  below.  She  could  bear  the  suspense  no  longer; 
and,  blushing  and  hesitating  with  girlish  confusion 
and  expectancy,  she  glided  down  to  the  corridor  below 
and  timidly  entered  the  library. 

The  general  sat  there  alone  before  his  desk,  his 
gray  head  bent  heavily  on  his  hands. 

His  daughter  stole  timidly  up  to  him. 
"Papa,"  she  cried  out,  nervously,  "where  is  my 
lover?    What  have  you  done  with  him?  " 

Ah,  how  should  he  answer  her? 


CHAPTER  VI. 


"YOU  MUST   LEARN  TO  FORGET  HIM. 

General  Hastings  raised  his  head  slowly  and 
looked  with  emotion  too  great  for  words  at  the  beauti- 
ful young  daughter  who  knelt  at  his  feet.  He  had 
faced  the  foe  on  the  battle-field,  boldly  charging  for- 
ward, with  shot  and  shell  falling  like  hail  around  him, 
and  had  felt  no  fear ;  but  his  heart  failed  him  at 
the  ordeal  he  must  pass  through  now.  He  nerved 
himself  for  it,  however. 

"Where  is  he,  papa?  "  repeated  Keine.  "  My  lover 
was  here  to  ask  you  to  give  me  to  him.  Tell  me  what 
answer  you  made  him?  " 

Her  intense,  pitiful  eagerness  overcame  the  coy, 
girlish  bashfulness  that  was  her  usual  wont,  as  she 
looked  up  into  his  face. 

The  general's  answer  must  be  spoken  sooner  or  later. 
He  took  the  little,  white,  trembling  hands  in  his  own 
strong  ones. 

"  I  sent  him  away,  Reine,"  he  answered,  steadily. 
"He  will  never  come  back  again — never.  You  must 
learn  to  forget  him,  my  child.  Would  to  God  that 
you  knew  that  man  as  he  is:  a  profligate  and  a  villain. 
It  was  your  wealth  he  wanted,  Reine,  not  yourself. 
And  I  have  told  him  that  which  will  cause  him  to  look 
elsewhere  for  a  wealthy  bride.  He  will  cross  your  path 
nevermore.    You  must  learn  to  forget  him." 

Reine  Hastings  rose  slowly  to  her  feet,  facing  her 
father  with  a  white,  awful  face.  He  could  scarcely 
recognize  in  the  passionate,  angry  girl  that  stood 
before  him  his  loving,  tender  Reine,  the  child  of  his 
heart,  the  daughter  of  his  old  age. 

«  You  have  sent  him  away — parted  two  hearts  tha^ 
42 


"YOU  MUST  LEAEN  TO  FOEGET  HIM."  4o 

Heaven  intended  for  each  other  :  I  could  sooner  'die 
than  give  him  up  !  Oh,  papa!  papa!  let  him  come 
back  to  me ! " 

The  words  ended  in  a  wail  of  anguish  that  wrung 
the  old  man's  heart  to  the  very  core. 

"It  can  never  be,  my  Eeine,"  said  her  father,  ten- 
derly. "  I  know  best,  dear.  The  time  will  come 
when  you  will  thank  me  for  saving  you  from  your  own 
folly.  You  are  infatuated  with  the  villain.  This  is 
not  love,  such  as  will  come  to  you  when  you  are  older 
and  wiser." 

"Is  it  not  real  love  when  I  would  die  for  him? — 
when  I  would  welcome  death  rather  than  live  through 
the  weary  days  without  him?  It  is  not  your  wealth  he 
wants;  you  misjudge  him  cruelly.  Eecall  him  and 
give  me  to  him,  and  you  will  see  that  we  can  get  along 
without  help  from  you.    Oh,  papa!  you  must!" 

"Would  you  give  me  up  for  this  man  if  you  knew 
that  I  should  cast  you  off  forevermore  from  my  heart 
and  home  for  making  such  a  choice?"  he  asked, 
huskily. 

His  lovely  young  daughter  crept  up  to  him  and 
knelt  down  at  his  feet. 

"My  mother  gave  up  everything  for  you,"  she  said. 

A  sudden  idea  came  to  the  general. 

"  We  will  compromise  matters,"  he  suid,  slowly. 
"  If  your  lover  is  really  in  earnest  in  his  wooing  he 
will  come  to  me  again  to  urge  his  suit;  he  will  not  be 
satisfied  with  '  No  5  for  an  answer,  and  when  he  comes 
I  may  reconsider  my  decision." 

It  was  pitiful  to  see  the  joy  that  broke  over  Berne's 
face,  and  to  see  how  she  threw  her  white  arms  around 
his  neck  and  thanked  him  with  smiles  and  tears.  She 
would  send  a  note  to  Waldemar  that  very  night,  and 
on  the  morrow  he  would  be  sure  to  call  on  her  father 
again;  then  all  would  be  well.  In  a  moment  she  was 
his  own  imperious,  wilful  Eeine  again,  smiling  and 
blushing  by  turns. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  what  occurred  in  the  library  last 
night,"  she  whispered,  softly;  "but,  oh,  papa!  I 
thought  it  was  Waldemar  whom  you  meant  all  along. 
I  never  dreamed  that  Mr.  Chesleigh  cared  for  me;  he 


44 


A  FORBIDDEN"  MARRIAGE. 


is  so  old  and  grave,  you  know.  You  must  tell  him 
just  how  matters  are." 

"Heaven  help  poor  Chesleigh!  He  loves  you  with 
a  true  and  noble  love,  Reine.  Some  day  you  may  be 
better  able  to  judge  between  solid  gold  and  glittering 
tinsel." 

She  kissed  him,  and  ran  lightly  up  to  her  own  room, 
and  sitting  down  to  her  writing-desk,  penned  a  hasty 
note  to  her  lover,  telling  him  of  her  interview  with  her 
father,  and  of  the  promise  he  had  made  at  the  close 
of  it. 

This  she  hurriedly  sealed,  and  throwing  a  lace  scarf 
over  her  golden  curls,  took  it  herself  to  the  old  oak 
tree,  wiiere  Waldemar  would  be  sure  to  come  in  search 
of  a  line  from  her-,  or  with  a  heart-broken  note,  telling 
her  all  that  had  passed  between  the  general  and  him- 
self. 

How  the  sun  shone  on  the  ivy-covered  walls  and  on 
the  bright-haed  flowers  as  she  sped  along!  No  one 
saw  her  as  she  approached  the  old  trysting-place. 

She  was  about  to  place  her  letter  in  the  usual 
receptacle  when  she  observed  with  joy  that  a  letter  was 
already  there  for  her,  from  Waldemar. 

She  drew  it  forth  with  trembling  hands  and  hur- 
riedly broke  the  seal.  There  were  but  a  few  brief 
lines,  and  read  as  follows: 

"  My  Dear  Reine:  All  is  over  between  us,  it  seems,  as  you 
are  probably  aware  by  this  time  from  the  old  gent.  I  came 
and  saw;  but,  instead  of  conquering — was  vanquished.  I  am 
off  in  a  deuce  of  a  hurry,  having  barely  time  to  scribble  these 
few  lines  to  you.  Keep  your  heart  warm  toward  me.  More 
anon. 

"  Yours  in  the  greatest  of  haste, 

"  Waldemar  Waldron." 

Slowly  the  girl  read  it  through — once — twice — the 
letters  fairly  burning  themselves  upon  her  dazed  brain; 
then  it  slipped  from  her  nerveless  fingers  and  fluttered 
down  unheeded  among  the  blue  harebells  at  her  feet. 

Gone!  and  without  as  much  as  a  word  for  her! 
Gone!  Left  her  in  darkness  and  in  gloom,  to  die  of  a 
broken  heart.  Was  it  true?  Had  he  gone  away? 
Had  he  taken  her  father  at  his  word  and  left  her  for- 
ever? 


"  YOU  MUST  LEARN  TO  FORGET  HIM. 


45 


fe  Waldemar!  "  she  whispered. 

The  very  winds  among  the  trees  seemed  to  mock 
her,  and  murmur  in  their  fitful  rustling  that  he  had 
gone. 

She  leaned  back  heavily  against  the  old  oak  tree  for 
an  hour  or  more.  She  did  not  cry  out,  or  utter  any 
moan,  bat  stood  there  like  a  marble  statue.  She  could 
almost  feel  the  beating  heart  in  her  bosom  slowly  part- 
ing in  twain. 

It  was  a  wonder  that  the  careless  tone  of  the  note 
did  not  jar  upon  her  keen  sensibilities;  but  it  did  not. 

At  that  very  moment,  in  the  library,  General  Hast- 
ings was  recounting  all  that  had  transpired  to  Bernard 
Chesleigh.  It  was  like  a  death  warrant  to  the  young 
man,  but  he  bore  the  terrible  shock  bravely. 

Eeine,  whom  he  had  worshipped  so  blindly,  loved 
another,  and  that  other,  Waldemar  Waldron.  It  was 
a  severe  blow  to  him.  Had  it  been  a  noble  and  honor- 
able man  to  whom  Seine  had  given  the  love  of  her  ten- 
der young  heart  he  could  have  borne  it  better. 

"  Tell  her,  General,  to  forgive  my  presumption  that 
she  could  ever  love  one  as  old  and  grave  as  myself. 
A  sedate  man  of  twenty-nine  must  seem  a  very 
patriarch  to  a  gay,  fun-loving  girl  of  sixteen.  She 
shall  never  be  grieved  by  hearing  more  of  this  subject 
from  me." 

He  turned  and  walked  slowly  out  into  the  grounds 
that  skirted  the  villa,  attempting  to  find  momentary 
solace  in  his  companionable  cigar. 

The  general  looked  after  him  thoughtfully. 

"He  is  one  of  nature's  true  noblemen,"  ne  sighed. 
"  Would  to  Heaven  that  Eeine  had  given  her  heart 
into  the  keeping  of  such  a  man." 

Then  a  hopeful  smile  crept  about  his  bearded  lips. 

When  Eeine  had  learned  to  forget  Waldron,  and  had 
time  to  realize  her  folly,  she  might  look  more  kindty 
upon  Bernard  Chesleigh,  and,  appreciating  him,  learn 
to  care  for  him.  That  was  the  future  the  fond  old 
father  mapped  out  for  her. 

In  turning  a  bend  in  the  path,  Bernard  Chesleigh 
had  come  face  to  face  with  Eeine.  He  started  back  in 
confusion.    The  girl  scarcely  stirred.    The  dead  white- 


46 


A  FORBIDDEX  MARRIAGE. 


ness  of  her  face  startled  and  alarmed  him.  She  hardly 
appeared  to  note  his  presence. 

"  Heine,"  he  said,  kindly,  advancing  toward  her, 
"  your  father  told  me  all.  Forget  the  words  I  have 
spoken;  look  upon  me  hereafter  as  a  kind  and  loving 
brother,  one  who  would  lay  down  his  life  for  yon,  ask- 
ing no  reward  but  that  you  may  ever  be  happy. " 

He  stopped  abruptly,  for  at  that  moment  his  eyes 
fell  upon  the  slip  of  paper  that  lay  at  her  feet,  and, 
before  he  was  scarcely  aware  of  what  he  was  doing,  his 
glance  had  traversed  quickly  over  those  few  lines. 
Then  he  held  the  key  to  the  girl's  death-white  face, 
and  the  great  purple  shadows  that  lay  in  her  eyes  that 
gazed  past  him  into  vacancy.  She  knew  that  her  lover 
had  gone,  and  her  heart  was  breaking. 

How  his  heart  bled  for  her — beautiful,  gay  little 
Reine,  whose  life  he  would  have  made  so  happy;  every 
heart  pang  that  she  endured  hurt  him  cruelly,  too. 

He  put  away  his  own  great  sorrow  and  sought  in  vain 
to  comfort  her. 

"  It  is  warm  for  you  here,  Reine,"  he  said.  "  Come 
with  me  into  the  house." 

He  drew  her  hand  within  his  arm  and  led  her  unre  - 
sistingly down  the  sunlit  path.  A  party  of  young- 
people  «en joying  a  canter  through  the  glade  had  come 
to  call  for  Reine  to  accompany  them.  She  saw  them 
dismounting  at  the  entrance  gate: 

She  clung  to  Bernard  with  hot,  trembling  hands. 

"  Send  them  away!  "  she  cried,  piteously.  "  I  can- 
not see  them!  I  could  not  hear  their  laughter  and 
jests!    I  could  not  endure  it." 

He  led  her  round  by  a  new  path,  and  they  entered 
the  house  unobserved. 

Reine  crept  up  to  her  own  room,  and  threw  herself, 
face  downward,  on  the  white  couch;  and  her  wild  sob- 
bing reached  the  general  as  he  sat  in  the  library  below. 

His  heart  ached  for  her,  but  he  comforted  himself 
with  the  thought,  the  fiercer  the  storm  of  grief  raged 
the  quicker  it  would  wear  itself  out. 

Bernard  Chesleigh  would  have  left  Fairlawn  Villa 
that  day,  but  the  general  urged  him  so  earnestly  to 
stay  that  he  allowed  himself  to  be  persuaded,  especially 
when  by  remaining  he  was  near  Reine. 


"  YOU  MUST  LEAK**  TO  FOItGET  HIM?"  47 

Day  after  day  Eeine  hurried  to  the  old  trysting-place, 
watching  eagerly  for  a  letter  from  Waldemar  Waldron, 
but  she  never  found  one  there.  He  seemed  to  have 
passed  out  of  her  life  completely,  and  day  after  day,  as 
she  crept  weeping  back  to  the  house,  she  drooped  "and 
faded,  falling  into  a  dull  apathy  of  despair. 

The  summer  sunshine  was  a  mockery  to  her;  the 
singing  birds  were  cruel;  the  flowers  had  lost  their 
beauty  for  her. 

In  vain  Kerne's  wondering  companions  sought  to 
rouse  and  cheer  her,  asking  themselves  what  had  come 
over  beautiful,  wilful  Eeine  Hastings,  who  had  always 
been  the  merriest  girl  among  them. 

Bernard  Chesleigh  was  more  than  kind  to  her.  His 
devotion  would  have  touched  any  other  heart  save 
Eeine's.  The  old  general  trembled  in  keenest  alarm 
as  he  watched  her  from  day  to  day,  and  the  words 
Waldemar  Waldron  uttered  came  back  to  him: 

"  Many  a  father  has  recalled  a  lover  to  save  his 
daughter's  life."    Would  the  prophecy  prove  true  ? 


CHAPTER  VII. 


EEIKE   BOWS  TO  THE  INEVITABLE. 

A  deep  gloom  had  fallen  over  Fairlawn  Villa.  The 
old  corridors  and  spacious  rooms  no  longer  rang  with 
gay  songs  trilled  in  a  merry  young  voice  that  gladdened 
the  hearts  of  those  who  heard  it. 

Reine  went  about  quietly  enough  now.  She  never 
complained,  but  the  gaze  of  the  reproachful  eyes  that 
met  the  general's  hurt  him  more  than  any  words  could 
have  done. 

Once  he  attempted  to  talk  with  her  upon  the  subject, 
but  she  turned  from  him  with  piteous  entreaty. 

"  Remember  it  was  you  who  parted  us,  papa/'  she 
sobbed.    "  Do  not  refer  to  it." 

Day  by  day,  as  he  watched  her,  he  could  not  help 
but  note  how  she  drooped;  he  could  not  help  but  see 
that  she  was  suffering  a  living  death.  Matters  could 
not  go  on  in  this  way  much  longer. 

Must  he,  to  save  Reine's  life,  give  her  to  a  man  who 
would  make  that  life  a  curse  to  her? 

The  general  proposed  a  trip  to  Europe,  or  a  season 
at  Long  Branch.  The  gayety  was  at  its  height  there, 
and  it  might  arouse  her.  She  shook  her  golden  head, 
refusing  to  leave  Fairlawn. 

They  were  at  a  loss  to  know  what  to  do  with  her. 
She  never  complained.  The  name  of  the  lover  from 
whom  she  had  been  parted  never  once  crossed  her  lips. 
She  was  only  a  spoiled,  wilful  child;  her  life  seemed  to 
have  passed  into  her  love,  and,  now  that  love  was 
taken  from  her,  her  life  went  with  it. 

The  hope  from  day  to  day  that  Waldemar  Waldron 
would  come  back  to  her  settled  into  dull  despair. 

The  summer  days  came  and  went;  the  flowers  died 
under  the  chill  breath  of  autumn;  the  song  birds  had 

48 


EEIXE  BOWS  TO  THE  INEVITABLE. 


49 


long  since  sought  their  sunny  southern  home  among 
the  orange  groves.  Six  months  had  passed,  and  at  the 
end  of  that  time  an  event  happened  which  changed  the 
whole  current  of  Seine's  life.  The  general  had  been 
stricken  with  a  malady  which  threatened  to  prove 
fatal.  Eeine  rarely  left  his  bedside.  She  was  the 
most  faithful  of  nurses. 

Bernard  Chesleigh,  too.  was  in  constant  attendance 
upon  the  sufferer. 

It  was  at  her  father's  bedside  that  Eeine  first  noticed 
how  attached  the  general  was  to  him. 

It  was  at  the  close  of  the  third  day  of  the  general's 
sickness  that  he  called  his  daughter  to  him. 

"  I  am  afraid  that  it  will  be  all  over  with  me  soon. 
Eeine.''  he  said,  slowly:  "  but  the  thought  of  death  is 
not  so  hard  for  me  to  bear  as  the  knowledge  that  you 
will  be  left  all  alone  in  the  world;  that  is  the  bitterest 
drop  in  my  cup  of  sorrow. 

"  Do  not  weep  so.  my  Eeine.*''  he  went  on.  weakly. 

"We  must  all  bow  sooner  or  later  to  the  inevitable. 

"  Ah.  Eeine,.  my  child.''  he  continued,  thoughtfully, 
"how  great  a  joy  and  comfort  it  would  have  been  to 
me  had  it  pleased  Heaven  that  you  could  have  loved 
Bernard  Chesleigh.  As  you  did  not.  I  never  attempted 
to  urge  it  upon  you:  but.  oh,  my  Eeine.  if  the  thought 
had  been  mine  that  you  would  be  forever  shielded  from 
the  world's  pitiless  storms- — by  his  strong  arms — I 
could  have  died  content.  He  has  loved  you  so  long 
and  so  well.    Ah.  Eeine.  he  loves  you  so  fondly  yet.'' 

The  slender  figure.,  kneeling  beside  the  general's 
couch,  shook  with  emotion.  The  little  hands  that 
clasped  his  feverish  one.  trembled. 

Eeine."  he  said,  slowly,  "  if  in  the  future  Bernard 
Chesleigh  should  ask  the  same  question  of  you  that  he 
asked  once  before,  do  you  think  you  could  answer  him 
differently?'' 

Only  Heaven  knew  the  bitter  struggle  that  lasted 
for  one  brief  moment  in  the  girl's  heart.  After  all, 
what  did  it  matter  what  became  of  her  life:  love  was 
over  for  her  forevermore.  If  Bernard  Chesleigh  loved 
her  still,  and  it  would  please  her  father,  why  hold  out 
against  them  longer? 
4 


50  A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 

"  Would  you  really  wish  me  to  give  him  a  different 
answer,  papa?  "  she  asked,  faintly,  great  tears  starting 
to  her  blue  eyes,  and  falling  unheeded. 

He  answered  "Yes"  so  fervently  that  it  startled 
her. 

"  Then  it  may  as  well  be  as  you  wish,  papa,"  she 
said,  wearily. 

She  was  standing  listlessly  by  the  lace-draped  win- 
dow half  an  hour  later,  in  the  dusky  glow  of  the  twi- 
light, when  hurried  footsteps  startled  her.  They  were 
Bernard  Chesleiglr's. 

He  crossed  over  to  where  she  stood,  his  grave,  hand- 
some face  radiant  with  emotion. 

"  The  general  has  told  me,  my  little  Heine,"  he 
said,  huskily,  and  I  can  scarcely  credit  it.  I  must 
hear  it  from  your  own  lips.  This  great  happiness  he 
promises  me  seems  too  bright  to  be  real.  Is  it  true, 
Heine,  my  little  darling,  that  you  will  indeed  be  my 
wife?" 

"I  will  be  your  wife  if  you  want  me,  Mr.  Ches- 
leigh,"  she  said,  simply. 

"Want  you,  Reine!"  he  repeated.  "I  want  you 
with  all  my  heart.  Words  fail  me  in  expressing  how 
much  I  want  you.  My  great  happiness  overpowers  me. 
I  cannot  utter  all  that  is  in  my  heart.  I  will  make 
you  a  true  and  loving  husband,  Reine.  Your  will 
shall  be  my  law.  I  will  surround  you  with  everything 
love  can  suggest  or  money  procure.  I  will  devote  my 
life  to  you.  You  shall  never  regret  the  choice  you 
have  made." 

He  attempted  to  draw  her  toward  him,  but  she 
shrank  from  his  embrace,  and  he  was  too  true  a  gentle- 
man to  repeat  the  caress  when  he  saw  that  it  was  dis- 
tasteful to  her. 

She  had  promised  to  be  his  wife,  and  he  must  be 
content  with  that  for  the  present.  He  would  do  his 
best  to  win  her  love  in  the  golden  future.  He  was 
grateful  that  Heaven  had  rewarded  his  great  patience 
and  devotion  by  giving  him  Reine  at  last. 

The  news  of  Reine's  engagement  to  Bernard  Ches- 
leigh  was  received  with  great  satisfaction  by  all  who 
knew  them, 


RELSE  BOWS  TO  THE  INEVITABLE. 


51 


The  old  servants  at  Fairlawn  were  delighted,  and 
declared  that  affairs  were  now  as  they  ought  to  be,  and 
should  have  been  from  the  very  first.  The  wedding 
was  set  for  Christmas  evening. 

Thus  matters  stood  when  the  crisis  of  the  general's 
disease  came,  and  from  the  moment  Bernard  Chesleigh 
broke  the  joyful  news  to  him  there  was  a  marked 
change  in  the  general's  condition,  and  to  the  surprise 
of  the  whole  household — even  the  medical  experts 
themselves — he  seemed  to  take  a  new  lease  of  life, 
and  in  less  than  a  fortnight  was  considered  out  of 
danger,  and  commenced  to  regain  health  and  strength 
rapidly. 

"  I  shall  be  able  to  give  you  away  on  your  bridal  eve, 
my  dear/'  he  said,  joyously,  to  Eeine  one  day.  "I  do 
not  look  upon  it  as  losing  a  daughter,  but  rather  as 
the  gaining  of  a  son  of  whom  I  may  well  feel  proud."'' 

Heine's  lovely  face  paled.  Did  they  really  mean  to 
hold  her  to  that  engagement,  made  in  accordance  with 
her  father's  wish;  and  when  he  believed  himself  dying, 
and  that  she  would  be  alone  in  the  world? 

Now  that  her  father  had  recovered,  could  she  beg  of 
Bernard  Chesleigh  to  give  her  back  her  plighted  troth? 

The  general  was  so  much  wrapped  up  in  the  ap- 
proaching marriage,  and  had  set  his  mind  so  eagerly 
upon  it,  that  she  hadn't  the  heart  to  thwart  him. 

The  preparations  went  on  on  a  magnificent  scale. 

"  It  makes  me  young  again  to  fix  up  for  a  wedding,'-' 
the  general  declared. 

And  then  he  must  make  the  most  of  that  one  occa- 
sion, for  he  had  but  the  one  daughter  to  marry  off. 

Reine  took  little  interest  in  the  wonderful  boxes  of 
finery  that  came  for  her.  She  was  marrying  to  please 
her  father,  not  for  love's  sweet  sake. 

"  La  me  ! "  whispered  one  of  her  maids,  confiden- 
tially in  the  servants'  hall  one  day.  "  You  ought  to 
see  how  little  Miss  Eeine  is  interested  in  her  wedding 
clothes.  When  1  took  out  her  lovely  white  silk  dress, 
all  a-sparkle  with  sown  pearls,  and  the  beautiful  veil, 
she  looked  at  them  for  just  one  minute,  and  then  said: 
'No  doubt  they  will  do  very  nicely,  Meta;  put  them 
away  out  of  my  sight  until  they're  wanted.' " 


53 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


"Mr.  Chesleigh  is  such  a  fine  gentleman,"  assented 
the  housekeeper,  "  it's  ten  thousand  pities  she  cares  so 
little  for  him.  That's  always  the  way  it  is — girls  who 
don't  care  about  them  get  husbands  who  fairly  adore 
them." 

"It's  my  opinion,"  declared  the  maid,  "that  she 
cared  altogether  too  much  for  that  handsome  coxcomb 
that  was  here  last  summer.  Folks  had  better  be  olf 
with  the  old  love  before  they  are  on  with  the  new;  if 
they  don't  it  will  brew  trouble." 

And  with  these  prophetic  words  she  whisked  out  of 
the  room. 

Reine  was  in  her  own  room,  a  pretty  little  pink  and 
white  affair  in  the  western  wing,  with  her  friend,  Ger- 
tie Traverse,  who  was  in  raptures  over  a  magnificent 
necklace  of  diamonds  which  Bernard  had  just  sent  up 
to  Reine. 

"Oh!  they're  perfectly  lovely!"  gasped  Gertie, 
gazing  at  the  sparkling  treasures  with  wistful,  longing 
eyes.  "What  a  lucky  girl  yon  are,  Reine,  to  have 
such  a  liberal  lover.  I  almost  envy  you — upon  my 
word  I  do." 

"  Envy  me — the  most  miserable  creature  the  smil- 
ing earth  holds!  Oh!  if  Gertie  only  knew,"  she 
thought,  repressing  a  tremulous  sigh. 

"  Do  you  know,  Reine,"  her  friend  went  on,  with  all 
a  young  girl's  thoughtlessness,  "  I  quite  fancied,  last 
summer,  that  you  rather  liked  our  handsome  blonde 
neighbor,  Mr.  Waldron,  of  Waldron  Towers.  By  the 
way,  I  wonder  what  took  him  olf  so  suddenly." 

Reine  tried  to  speak,  but  her  voice  died  away  in  a 
gasp. 

"When  I  missed  him,  I  sent  over  to  know  if  he 
were  ill;  and  the  answer  the  servant  brought  back 
was,  that  he  was  called  away  hurriedly;  that  he  might 
be  back  the  following  week,  or  perhaps  he  might 
remain  away  long  months — his  movements  were  pretty 
uncertain.  Rather  uncivil  of  Mr.  Waldron  to  treat  us 
with  such  scant  courtesy  as  to  leave  without  even  say- 
ing good-by,"  laughed  Gertie. 

"Did  they  tell  you  where  he  had  gone  ?"  inquired 
Reine,  with  painful  interest. 


KEIXE  BOWS  TO  THE  INEVITABLE. 


53 


Gertie  shook  her  curls  back,  and  said: 

"  No.  The  thought  occurred  to  me,  however,  that 
perhaps  he  went  off  to  get  married.  In  fact,  I  am  very 
much  inclined  to  think  he  has  wedded  long  since." 

The  glittering  diamonds,  Bernard's  gift,  fell  from 
her  lap  to  the  floor  unheeded. 

"Why  should  you  think  he  is  married,  Gertie?" 
she  asked,  faintly.    "  Tell  me  why  you  think  that." 

"It  is  only  a  surmise  of  mine,"  smiled  Gertie, 
pleased  at  her  companion's  apparent  interest  in  her 
gossip.  "  Why,  when  one  of  my  friends  was  in  New 
York  lately,  who  should  he  see  entering  one  of  the 
large  dry  goods  stores  but  Mr.  Waldemar  Waldron, 
with  a  young  and  beautiful  lady  leaning  on  his  arm. 
He  purchased  her  an  elegant  plush  dolman.  Now, 
that  certainly  looks  as  if  he  was  married,  doesn't  it  ?  " 

Reine  Hastings  rose  to  her  feet  with  a  suppressed 
cry.  She  took  one  step  forward,  then,  without  a  word 
of  warning,  sank  down  in  a  dead  faint  at  Gertie's  feet. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


WHERE  IS  THE  BRIDE? 

Gertie  Traverse  did  not  call  one  of  the  maids 
when  Reine  sank  in  a  dead  faint  at  her  feet,  but  set 
about  restoring  her  by  laving  her  face  freely  with 
water  which  was  close  at  hand. 

At  last  she  was  rewarded  by  seeing  Reine  open  wide 
her  blue,  dazed  eyes. 

"  Are  you  ill,  dear?"  she  inquired,  anxiously. 
"  Or  perhaps  the  room  is  too  warm  for  you.  I  did  not 
know  you  were  subject  to  swooning  away  like  this. 
You  frightened  me." 

It  never  once  occurred  to  Gertie  that  the  subject 
under  discussion  between  them  had  anything  to  do 
with  her  friend's  sudden  indisposition. 

For  long  hours  after  Reine  Hastings  found  herself 
alone  she  sat  with  her  hands  closely  locked  together  in 
her  lap,  gazing  steadily  into  the  glaring  flames  of  the 
sea-coal  fire. 

Was  it  true  that  the  lover  whose  loss  she  had 
mourned  so  keenly  had  found  consolation  with  another 
love  whom  he  had  made  his  bride?  How  the  thought 
tortured  her! 

It  mattered  little  enough  then  what  became  of  her. 
Life  was  all  over  for  her  long  since. 

Gertie  had  gathered  up  the  fallen  jewels.  Placing 
them  in  their  casket  upon  the  table,  Reine  pushed 
them  from  her  with  trembling  hands.  She  would 
have  thought  more  of  one  simple  flower  given  her  by 
Waldemar  Waldron  than  of  all  the  precious  jewels  the 
man  whom  she  was  so  soon  to  marry  could  have 
bestowed  upon  her. 

It  mattered  little  enough  to  Reine  Hastings  how 
rapidly  or  slowly  the  weeks  rolled  on  now.  Her  love 
and  her  faith  had  received  a  cruel  blow. 

54 


WHERE  IS  THE  BRIDE  ? 


55 


Because  Eeine  no  longer  mentioned  Waldemar  Wal 
dron's  name  both  the  general  and  Bernard  Chesleigh 
confidently  hoped  that  she  had  learned  to  forget 
him.    Neither  of  them  was  versed  in  the  ways  of 
woman's  love  or  woman's  pride, 

At  last  the  eventful  day  of  Kernels  life  dawned  amid 
the  pealing  of  the  Christmas  bells.  It  was  her  wed- 
ding-day, yet  Eeine  opened  her  eyes  to  the  morning 
light  with  a  shudder  and  a  sob  of  pain. 

The  golden  sunlight  blinded  the  eyes  that  were 
swollen  with  weeping,  and  the  chiming  of  the  joy-bells 
made  her  heart  flutter  with  pain. 

Fairlawn  was  thronged  with  guests  who  were  to  wit- 
ness the  ceremony  on  this  eventful  Christmas  evening. 
Many  had  come  from  afar  and  were  making  the  most 
of  the  festive  occasion. 

All  day  Eeine  kept  her  room,  with  Mrs.  Dent,  the 
housekeeper,  for  a  maid  and  companion.  Even  the 
bridemaids,  who  were  just  dying  to  catch  a  glimpse  of 
her,  were  rigorously  excluded  from  her  boudoir;  yet 
nothing  was  thought  of  this,  as  it  has  been  the  custom 
of  many  a  bride  from  time  immemorial. 

66  She  wants  to  come  forth  at  the  proper  time  such  a 
vision  of  loveliness  as  will  startle  us,"  laughed  Gertie 
Traverse,  twining  a  fresh  cluster  of  pale  rosebuds  in 
her  curly  locks.  "  I  have  seen  Seine's  diamonds, 
girls,"  she  pursued,  breathlessly,  "and  I  warn  you  to 
prepare  yourselves  to  see  something  just  grand.  Just 
think  of  it!  A  whole  necklace  that  encircles  her  neck 
twice,  of  superb  solitaire  diamonds,  every  one  of  'em 
larger  than  these  earrings  in  my  ears.  And  her  dress 
is  perfectly  lovely.  You  never  saw  such  a  veil. 
And  as  for  slippers,  why,  dear  me!  they  are  cuteness 
itself — white  satin,  embroidered  in  pearls.  Eeine  will 
look  as  beautiful  as  a  poet's  dream." 

All  the  young  girls  were  more  than  longing  to  catch 
a  glimpse  of  all  this  finery,  and  could  scarcely  wait  in 
patience  for  the  hour  to  arrive  when  Eeine  should 
make  her  appearance. 

At  that  moment  Mrs.  Dent  was  putting  the  last 
touches  to  Eeine's  toilet.  Was  there  ever  a  fairer 
little  bride?    If  it  were  not  too  old  a  subject,  I  would 


56 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


describe  how  lovely  she  looked  in  the  shimmering, 
gleaming  satin  robe,  and  the  cloud-like  veil  that 
enveloped  her,  with  its  crown  of  snowy  orange  blos- 
soms resting  on  her  golden  hair. 

There  was  a  feverish  glow  on  her  cheeks,  and  a 
strange  brightness  in  her  eyes,  and  the  little  hands 
that  grasped  the  bridal  bouquet  were  burning  hot 
through  the  dainty  white  kid  gloves  as  Mrs.  Dent 
touched  them. 

She  grew  strangely  restless  as  the  evening  wore  on. 
The  ceremony  was  to  be  performed  exactly  at  eight;  it 
wanted  a  quarter  to  that  time  now,  as  Eeine  stood 
dressed  and  ready. 

Within  the  hour  she  was  to  be  Bernard  Chesleiglrs 
wife.  How  strange  it  seemed  to  her!  The  very 
thought  seemed  to  make  her  grow  faint  and  dizzy. 
She  walked  oyer  to  the  long  French  window  and  threw 
up  the  sash.  Although  it  was  Christmas  night,  the 
wind  that  fanned  her  heated  cheek  was  balmy. 

Mrs.  Dent  called  to  her  anxiously: 

"  Reine,  my  dear,  you  must  not  stand  at  an  open 
window/'  she  said.  "  You  will  take  your  death  of 
cold;  or,  if  you  insist  upon  standing  there,  do  let  me 
throw  your  fur  wrap  about  you?  " 

Eeine  shook  her  head,  dreamily. 

"Do  not  disturb  me,  Mrs.  Dent,"  she  replied;  "let 
me  have  my  own  thoughts.  Bernard  will  not  come  for 
me  for  fifteen  minutes  yet.  I  will  spend  ten  of  them 
in  my  own  way." 

She  drew  the  velvet  curtain  about  her,  and  Mrs. 
Dent  walked  into  an  inner  apartment,  leaving  the 
youthful  bride  to  her  own  reveries. 

Reine  gazed  wistfully  down  into  the  ground.  Ah,  if 
she  might  rest  for  a  few  brief  moments  on  the  old 
bench  beneath  the  fir-trees  yonder,  where  the  ceaseless 
murmur  of  voices  would  not  reach  her.  Mechanically 
she  stepped  out  upon  the  moonlit  balcony,  gathering 
up  her  white  train  and  veil  in  one  little  gloved  hand. 

A  private  stairway  led  from  the  balcony  down  into 
the  grounds,  and  Reine  gained  the  shadows  of  the  fir- 
trees  unobserved,  sinking  down  wearily  upon  the 
bench. 


WHERE  IS  THE  BRIDE  ? 


5? 


The  snow  had  been  carefully  brushed  from  the 
grounds  and  from  the  rustic  seats,  yet  had  it  been 
lying  deep  about  her,  she  would  not  have  felt  its 
chill,  so  feverish  was  the  fire  that  burned  in  her 
veins. 

What  was  it  stealing  so  softly  and  cautiously  toward 
her  among  the  dense  shadows  of  the  pines  and  moan- 
ing fir-trees?  Once  she  almost  fancied  she  heard  a 
cautious,  stealthy  footstep,  but  it  must  have  been  only 
fancy,  or  the  bare  rustling  branches  of  the  trees  above 
her  head,  as  the  night-wind  sighed  among  them. 

She  turned  her  blue  eyes  in  the  direction  of  AValdron 
Towers — standing  like  a  sentinel  on  the  brow  of  a 
distant  hill — its  ivy-covered  turrets  plainly  discernible 
in  the  bright  white  moonlight. 

Yet  Eeine  would  not  think  of  its  owner — no,  she 
would  not  give  one  thought  to  him — for  she  was  to  be 
another's  bride  in  a  few  short  fleeting  moments. 

Time  seemed  to  fly  swift-winged  by  her,  and  it  flew 
by  with  equal  rapidity  to  the  inmates  of  the  spacious 
villa. 

The  bronze  clock  on  the  marble  pedestal,  in  the  al- 
cove of  the  corridor,  was  almost  on  the  stroke  of  eight 
as  Bernard  Ohesleigh,  followed  by  the  general,  hastened 
toward  Heine's  boudoir,  surrounded  by  a  group  of 
merry  bridemaids.  How  tall,  handsome,  and  noble 
he  looked! — a  man  any  woman  might  have  given  her 
love  to,  and  been  proud  of  him. 

Many  a  wistful,  girlish  glance  followed  the  manly 
figure  as  he  hurried  down  the  corridor. 

Gently  he  tapped  at  the  boudoir  door.  Mrs.  Dent 
opened  it,  standing  back  as  she  saw  the  handsome  bride- 
groom standing  flushed  and  expectant  there,  and  the 
general  following  closely  behind  him. 

"  Is  Eeine  quite  ready?"  he  asked,  pausing  bash- 
fully upon  the  threshold,  and  gazing  past  her,  eagerly, 
around  the  pretty  pink  and  gold  jewel  case  of  a  room. 
"  It  will  be  quite  eight  by  the  time  we  reach  the  recep- 
tion room.  I  fear  the  guests  are  becoming  impatient 
already,"  he  said,  smilingly. 

"Dear  me,"  cried  Mrs.  Dent,  gathering  up  the 
fragrant  bouquet  Eeine  had  laid  down,  "  how  time 


58 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


flies!  I  did  not  dream  it  was  so  near  time  for  the 
ceremony." 

She  disappeared  quickly  within  the  lace-draped  inner 
apartment. 

"Dear  me!"  she  ejaculated  in  affright,  noting  the 
wind  olowing  against  the  hanging  velvet  curtain.  "  If 
that  child  isn't  standing  at  the  open  window  yet;  he- 
cause  I  happened  to  forget  her." 

"Seine!  Seine!"  she  cried.  "Here  is  Mr.  Ches- 
leigh  waiting  for  you.  It's  time  for  you  to  go  down 
now.  The  clock  is  chiming  eight,  and  the  musicians 
are  striking  up  the  wedding  march." 

By  this  time  she  had  reached  the  window  and  drew 
back  the  heavy  crimson  hangings. 

But  no  white-robed  form  was  there.  The  window 
still  stood  open,  and  the  night  wind  blew  into  her 
white,  startled  face. 

"Seine!"  she  cried  in  alarm,  glancing  about  the 
room,  then '  out  onto  the  balcony.  No  Seine  was 
there. 

A  cold  horror  fell  upon  her  as  she  stood  quite  still  in 
the  young  bride's  deserted  boudoir — a  cold,  awful 
terror  that  made  her  heart  beat  wildly.  She  looked 
carefully  around  the  pretty  white  chamber.  Perhaps 
roguish  Seine  was  up  to  some  girlish  prank  to  frighten 
her. 

"Seine!"  she  called  again,  in  a  weak,  unsteady 
voice,  waiting  breathlessly  for  an  answer.  None 
came. 

The  tapping  of  the  ivy  against  the  casement  was 
the  only  sound  that  broke  the  awful  silence. 

"  Merciful  Heaven ! "  she  cried.  "Am  I  dreaming 
or  am  I  mad?    Where  is  she  gone?  " 

There  was  no  sign  of  disarray.  The  fur  wrap,  which 
she  would  not  have  about  her,  lay  on  the  arm-chair 
where  she  had  tossed  it.  The  light  from  the  silver 
lamp  fell  upon  the  jewel  case  and  the  diamond  neck- 
lace which  reposed  upon  its  velvet  cushion. 

She  walked  back  to  the  boudoir  where  the  handsome 
bridegroom  and  the  young  bride's  father  awaited  her, 
with  unsteady  steps  and  an  ashen  face. 

Bernard  Chesleigh  started  back,  and  the  eager  smile 


WHERE  IS  THE  BRIDE  ? 


59 


faded  from  his  face;  he  had  expected  to  see  her  lead- 
ing by  the  hand  his  bonnie,  beautiful  bride. 

She  hurried  past  him  and  went  up  to  the  general, 
laying  her  shaking  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  General  Hastings,"  she  whispered,  hoarsely.  "  I 
am  frightened.  Fifteen  minutes  ago  I  left  your 
daughter  standing  by  yonder  window,  dressed,  and 
ready  for  the  ceremony,  all  save  the  diamonds  and  her 
bonquet.  Xow,  the  room  is  empty.  She  is  not  there. 
The  window  is  open,  but  she  is  not  on  the  balcony." 

Bernard  Chesleigh  stood  quite  still  and  motionless. 
But  the  general  pushed  past  him  toward  his  daughter's 
room,  followed  by  the  frightened  housekeeper.  There 
was  a  terrible  fear  in  his  heart  that  he  could  not — dare 
not — shape  into  words. 


CHAPTEE  IX. 


THE   DETECTIVE   0^  THE  TRAIL. 

With  a  white  face,  the  general  gazed  breathlessly 
around  the  pretty  room.  No,  she  was  not  there. 
Loving  voices  called  her,  loving  eyes  searched  for  her 
— all  in  vain.    Reine  was  not  there. 

"  Chesleigh,"  cried  the  old  general,  "  she  is  not  here. 
Lock  the  door,  to  keep  every  one  out,  for  they  must 
not  know.  You  and  I  will  search  the  grounds  for 
her."  # 

Their  eyes  met.  Then  both  turned  away,  sick  with 
a  terrible  foreboding.  They  sprang  through  the  open 
window,  and  went  out  into  the  grounds  together,  one 
taking  the  circuitous  path  that  encircled  the  ground 
to  the  right;  the  other  took  the  path  to  the  left. 

Not  a  servant  was  summoned.  Merriment  was  at 
its  height  in  the  grand  parlors  and  spacious  drawing- 
rooms.  No  one  must  know.  The  time  for  the  cere- 
mony to  begin  was  quite  due.  The  minister  stood  in 
waiting,  yet  no  one  thought  of  hurrying  the  bridal 
pair  that  were  soon  to  stand  beneath  the  floral  bell. 

The  moments  dragged  slowly  by.  Ten  minutes 
passed — fifteen — then  another  ten. 

There  were  no  signs  of  the  bridal  party,  and  the 
minister,  to  appease  the  eager,  expectant  guests,  sent 
up  to  see  if  the  bride  and  groom  would  be  ready 
shortly. 

The  bevy  of  bridemaids  stood  in  the  corridor. 

The  door  had  been  locked  since  the  general  and 
Bernard  Chesleigh  had  passed  into  Heine's  boudoir, 
they  said,  and  no  amount  of  tapping  on  the  door 
brought  so  much  as  a  word  in  response;  and  instead  of 
laughing  voices  from  within,  not  so  much  as  a  sound 
could  be  heard.    It  was  indeed  strange.    Gertie  Trav- 

60 


The  detective  ox  the  trail.  CI 

erse  had  called  Reine  twice;  but  at  length  it  was  Mrs. 
Dent,  the  housekeeper,  who  had  answered,  begging 
her  to  tell  the  minister  and  guests  below  not  to  be  im- 
patient if  a  little  more  time  for  preparation  was  being 
given  the  bride. 

So  the  mirth  went  on  below,  while  the  two  white- 
faced  men  searched  the  grounds  about  the  villa. 

Carefully  they  searched  every  inch  of  the  spacious 
park,  meeting  at  last,  beneath  the  identical  tir  tree 
beneath  which  Reine  had  sat. 

The  anxious  old  housekeeper,  with  eyes  swollen  with 
weeping,  had  followed  them. 

The  general  and  the  white-faced  bridegroom  looked 
into  each  others  eyes  for  a  moment,  and  their  terrible 
fear  found  vent  in  words  as  the  whole  sense  of  their 
calamity  rushed  over  them. 

"  She  has  fled  from  me  rather  than  marry  me, 
general/''  he  said,  hoarsely.  "  I  might  have  foreseen 
this.  She  never  loved  me.  When  the  last  moment 
came  she  chose  to  face  the  cold,  pitiless  world  rather 
than  link  her  life  with  mine.  Reine  !  "  he  cried,  sink- 
ing down  on  the -self -same  bench  and  covering  his  face 
with  his  trembling  hands — oh,  little  Reine  ! — if  you 
had  but  told  me,  and  spared  me  this!  " 

He  was  mad  with  wounded  love,  outraged  honor, 
with  sorrow  and  despair;  yet  he  loved  her  too  well  to 
utter  one  word  against  her  who  had  betrayed  him  so 
cruelly. 

The  general  held  up  his  hands  with  a  passionate 
gesture. 

"  I  will  not  believe  that  my  Reine  fled  from  you/'  he 
cried.  "Something  tells  me  we  are  misjudging  her. 
Mrs.  Dent  tells  us  she  was  dressed  and  ready  in  her 
bridal  robes  fifteen  minutes  before  the  ceremony  was 
to  have  been  performed.  If  she  had  not  intended  to 
have  wedded  you,  why  need  she  have  taken  the  pains 
of  dressing?  She  would  have  fled  in  ordinary  clothes 
hours  before. 

f<  She  has  not  even  taken  her  wraps  with  her,  Mrs. 
Dent  says,"  he  went  on,  excitedly.  "No,  no,  Ches- 
leigh,  as  sure  as  you  and  I  stand  here,  she  intended 
wedding  you  to-night." 


G2 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


"Have  you  any  suspicion  of  foul  play?"  asked 
Bernard  Chesleigh,  hoarsely — any  thought  that  she 
has  been  spirited  away— abducted?  "  And  as  he  spoke 
his  eyes  rested  upon  the  ivy-covered  walls  of  Waldron 
Towers,  looming  up  darkly  before  him  on  a  far  off  hill. 

The  greatest  consternation  prevailed  when  the  an- 
nouncement was  made  to  the  shocked  guests  that  no 
marriage  would  take  place;  that  the  bride,  robed  in 
her  bridal  dress,  had  suddenly  disappeared. 

They  did  not  know  which  to  pity  most,  the  white- 
haired  old  father  or  the  handsome,  pallid  bridegroom, 
as  the  words  fell  from  the  minister's  lips,  and  when  he 
gravely  voiced  the  father's  grave  fears,  "  that  foul  play 
had  been  done,  if  she  had  not  wandered  unconsciously 
away  under  temporary  mental  excitement." 

Scouting  parties  were  made  up  instantly;  alarms 
were  sent  out;  couriers  scoured  the  country  in  all 
directions;  telegrams  were  sent  to  all  the  near  stations 
detailing  the  case.  Was  little  Keine  in  peril?  Who 
could  stop  to  rest  while  her  fate  was  clouded  in 
such  dark  and  terrible  mystery! 

Noiselessly  the  guests  had  taken  .their  departure, 
and  a  gloom  that  was  not  destined  to  be  lessened  for 
many  a  long  and  weary  day  settled  over  Fairlawn 
Villi. 

As  the  gray  dawn  broke  over  the  hills  and  vales  of 
Virginia  the  searching  parties  came  in  one  by  one 
without  tidings.  If  the  snow-clad  earth  had  opened 
and  swallowed  her,  Keine  Hastings  could  not  have  van- 
ished more  completely  from  their  sight,  leaving  no 
trace,  no  clew,  behind  her. 

The  whole  country  about  was  aroused  and  joined  in 
the  search,  headed  by  Bernard  Chesleigh  and  the 
white-haired  old  general. 

They  could  neither  rest  or  sleep  until  some  trace, 
some  tidings  of  Reine  could  be  found.  A  day  passed: 
another  night;  and  yet  another  day  was  born.  But  no 
trace  of  the  missing  bride  could  be  found. 

Servants  went  about  Fairlawn  Villa  with  noiseless 
footsteps  and  spoke  in  whispers.  It  almost  seemed  as 
if  the  general's  lovely  young  daughter  lay  dead  within 


THE  DETECTIVE  OX  THE  TRAIL. 


63 


those  walls,  the  sorrowing  for  her  was  so  bitter  and  so 
terrible. 

What  Bernard  Chesleigh  suffered  no  one  will  ever 
know.  Lines  of  care  and  grief  furrowed  his  grave, 
handsome  face. 

At  the  end  of  the  third  day  an  idea  had  occurred  to 
him.  He  wondered  greatly  that  he  had  not  put  it  into 
execution  long  before. 

He  sent  to  Washington,  asking  that  the  cleverest 
and  most  successful  detective  that  money  could  pro- 
cure should  be  sent  to  him  without  delay. 

The  story  had  been  printed  in  the  journals  of  the 
gieat  capital,  and  had  aroused  public  sympathy  ana 
public  interest. 

The  chief  of  the  great  detective  bureau  responded  at 
once  by  sending  on  one  of  his  most  expert  attaches— 
a  man  young  as  far  as  years  went,  but  with  a  very  old 
and  fertile  brain. 

It  was  the  chief's  experience  that  the  old  detectives 
generally  adopted  the  same  methods  for  unearthing 
mysteries — travelling  in  the  old,  beaten  rut.  Young 
brains  were  quick  and  more  ingenious. 

He  put  the  case  in  the  hands  of  Donald  Gray,  who 
had  never  lost  a  case;  his  success  was  almost  phenom- 
enal. He  would  unearth  the  whereabouts  of  the  miss- 
ing young  bride  if  any  one  could.  He  would  soon 
track  her  down  to  the  doom  that  had  fallen  upon  her. 

Mr.  Gray  was  studying  up  the  case  from  the  printed 
account  in  the  Washington  paper  all  the  way  on  the 
train,  and  was  quite  familiar  with  the  details  when  the 
train  slackened,  before  the  little  depot  half  a  mile  from 
Fairlawn  Villa. 

There  was  nothing  about  the  beardless  young  man's 
appearance  to  attract  a  second  glance  from  a  casual 
observer,  and  no  one  noticed  him  as  he  alighted  from 
the  car  and  stood  for  a  moment  on  the  platform  look- 
ing about  him. 

At  length  he  approached  a  gentleman  who  had  just 
alighted  from  a  spirited  bay  horse. 

"Can  you  tell  me,  sir/7  he  asked,  "if  the  road  to 
the  right  yonder  leads  to  the  village  and  on  to  the 
suburbs?  " 


64 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


The  gentleman  started  so  suddenly  forward  that  the 
cigar  he  held  in  his  white  fingers  fell  to  the  ground. 
He  frowned  and  answered  impatiently: 

"  it  leads  through  the  village,  and  as  far  to  the  right 
as  Fairlawn  Villa,  then  it  branches  westward  to,  and 
beyond  Waldron  Towers." 

A  sudden  thought  came  to  the  young  detective — 
that  perhaps  the  gentleman  before  him  was  Bernard 
Chesleigh — the  bridegroom  from  whom  General  Hast- 
ings' lovely  young  daughter  had  fled  upon  her  wed- 
ding-night. 

If  it  was,  he  did  not  blame  her — for  there  ivas  some- 
thing in  his  face  that  he  did  not  quite  like. 

He  was  dressed  in  the  height  of  fashion;  the  seal 
overcoat  he  wore  set  off  his  figure  to  the  best  advan- 
tage. It  was  thrown  open,  revealing  a  magnificent 
diamond  stud  that  gleamed  like  a  star  of  fire  on  his 
immaculate  shirt  front. 

He  was  faultless  in  appearance,  yet  the  unerring 
detective  did  not  quite  like  his  looks,  and  the  feeling 
of  dislike  grew  upon  him  each  moment  the  stranger 
stood  before  him. 

He  made  a  bold  move. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  he  said,  touching  his  hat, 
"may  I  inquire  if  you  are  Mr.  Chesleigh?" 

"Why  do  you  ask?"  retorted  the  young  man, 
sharply. 

"  Simply  from  curiosity.  I  was  wondering  if  you 
were  the  hero  of  the  romance  I  read  of  which  occurred 
hereabouts.  Again  I  beg  pardon,  if  my  question  was 
impertinent." 

His  companion  laughed  harshly,  jeeringly,  and  a 
malignant  light  flashed  into  his  slumbrous  eyes. 

He  took  a  cigar  from  his  pocket  and  proceeded  to 
light  it,  striking  the  match  on  the  sole  of  his  polished 
boot  before  he  deigned  a  reply. 

"  Mistaking  me  for  the  discarded  bridegroom! 
That's  decidedly  rich!"  he  said,  with  another  laugh. 
"  No,  young  man,  I  am  not  Bernard  Chesleigh — I  am 
Waldemar  Waldron,  of  Waldron  Towers,  which  lies  in 
the  dense  coppice  wood  about  a  mile  from  here." 


CHAPTER  X. 


THE  HEIR  Of  THE  TOWERS. 

The  detective  made  his  way  at  once  to  Fairlawn 
Villa.  He  was  immediately  shown  to  the  library, 
where  Bernard  Chesleigh  sat  with  his  face  buried  in 
his  hands. 

He  placed  a  chair  for  his  visitor  very  courteously, 
although  inwardly  he  was  greatly  disappointed  that  so 
young  a  man  had  been  sent  to  him  to  undertake  such 
a  difficult  and  highly  important  case;  he  would  have 
chosen  an  older  man  of  more  experience. 

Donald  Gray  listened  very  attentively  to  every  mi- 
nute detail  concerning  Reine's  past. 

*'Ah!  there  is  an  old  lover  in  the  case,"  he  rumi- 
nated, as  they  told  him  of  the  suitor  whom  the  general 
had  sent  away  long  months  before,  and  who  had  never 
visited  the  village  since. 

What  the  detective's  thoughts  were — if  he  had  any— 
when  they  told  him  the  name  of  the  lover  who  had 
been  so  summarily  dismissed,  his  face  never  betrayed. 

In  the  writing-desk  in  Reine's  boudoir  Mr.  Gray 
found  a  packet  of  letters  tied  with  a  violet  ribbon. 
These  he  took  possession  of  to  peruse  and  study  out  at 
his  leisure.  They  were  Waldemar  Waldron's  letters  to 
Heine. 

"  There  shall  be  no  lack  of  money  in  aiding  you  to 
work  out  the  solution  of  this  mystery,  Mr.  Gray,"  the 
general  said  to  him.  "  I  am  a  man  of  means.  Restore 
my  darling  daughter  to  me,  and  I  will  make  you  a  rich 
man  for  life." 

"I  will  do  my  best,  sir/'  returned  the  young  detec- 
tive, earnestly. 

And  he  did  do  his  best.  In  less  than  a  week's  time 
he  was  thoroughly  acquainted  with  every  inch  of  the 


CO 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


country  for  miles  about  Fairlawn  Villa,  and  had  been 
careful  to  cultivate  the  acquaintance  of  most  of  the 
people. 

By  his  direction  it  was  given  out  that  he  was  a  rela- 
tive of  Mrs.  Dent,  the  housekeeper,  and  was  paying 
her  a  short  visit  at  Fairlawn  Villa.  No  one  would 
have  dreamed  that  the  beardless,  boyish  young  fellow, 
so  bashful  in  appearance,  was  in  reality  one  of  the 
keenest  and  shrewdest  detectives  on  the  Washington 
force. 

A  week  had  passed  since  he  had  come  to  Fairlawn, 
and,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  he  was  completely 
baffled.  The  mystery  which  shrouded  in  deepest  gloom 
the  mysterious  disappearance  of  beautiful  Eeine  on 
her  wedding  night  was  as  impenetrable  as  ever. 

Each  ingenious  device  for  getting  on  the  trail  had 
turned  out  an  ignominious  failure. 

One  idea  fixed  itself  firmly  in  the  detective's  mind, 
however.  If  Miss  Hastings  had  contemplated  flight 
or  suicide — if  it  came  to  the  worst — she  would  not 
have  been  likely  to  robe  herself  in  her  bridal  dress  and 
linger  there  until  within  a  few  short  moments  of  the 
time  for  the  ceremony  to  begin. 

He  had  taken  her  picture  from  the  album  and  car- 
ried it  about  in  his  pocket,  studying  the  lovely,  laugh- 
ing face  so  well  that  he  knew  every  feature  by  heart. 

There  was  something  peculiar  about  the  saucy, 
smiling  mouth  and  deep,  pansy-blue  eyes,  and  about 
the  whole  contour  of  the  lovely,  dimpled  face,  framed 
in  its  sheen  of  golden  curls,  that  told  him  he  would 
recognize  the  original  instantly  on  sight  if  he  ever 
beheld  her. 

The  failure  which  met  his  every  effort  to  trace  Keine 
was  a  bitter  blow  to  the  young  detective.  He  knew 
his  reputation  was  at  stake — for  it  was  a  great  honor 
to  be  selected  for  so  great  a  case;  and  last,  but  by  no 
means  least,  he  knew  if  success  crowned  his  efforts  he 
would  receive  as  handsome  an  amount  as  the  most 
experienced  man  on  the  force  could  have  commanded. 
Ability  could  not  be  justly  measured  by  age  or  experi- 
ence. He  spent  most  of  the  time  out  of  doors — daily, 
hourly  hoping,  Micawber  like,  that  something  would 
turn  up  that  might  give  him  some  kind  of  a  clew. 


THE  HEIR  OF  THE  TOWERS. 


67 


He  had  haunted  the  groves  and  glens  surrounding 
Waklron  Towers,  and  on  one  of  these  rambles  he  had 
come  face  to  face  with  its  handsome,  fair-haired 
owner. 

Waldemar  Waldron  eyed  the  young  stranger  cu- 
riously, a  brilliant  idea  occurring  to  him  the  while. 
Why  not  sound  this  youth  who  was  Stopping  at  Fair- 
lawn  Villa,  and  learn  from  him  what  the  inmates  were 
about,  and  what  they  thought  and  talked  about  con 
cerning  the  disappearance  of  the  general's  daughter. 

Waldemar  Waldron  possessed  the  unusual  quality  of 
making  himself  agreeably  fascinating  to  men  as  well 
a?  to  women  when  he  chose. 

He  greeted  the  young  stranger  cordially  enough, 
and  as  the  days  passed  on  it  was  no  unusual  thing  for 
Donald  Gray  to  find  himself  in  Waldroirs  company. 
He  smiled  at  the  ingenious  way  in  which  his  new-found 
friend  plied  him  with  questions,  in  roundabout  ways 
which  were  certainly  unique.  His  replies  were  wary 
enough.  He  always  managed  to  arouse  Waldemars 
curiosity  from  day  to  day.  and  leave  him  when  appar- 
ently on  the  point  of  making  some  disclosure. 

A  laugh,  that  was  not  pleasant  to  hear,  fell  from 
Waldroirs  lips  when  the  sufferings  of  Bernard  Ches- 
leigh  were  portrayed  to  him  and  he  seemed  to  triumph 
in  the  other's  misery. 

But  he  spoke  never  a  word,  and  his  brows  darkened 
as  he  listened  to  the  manner  in  which  the  old  general 
met  the  terrible  blow  that  had  fallen  upon  him.  He 
had  said: 

'•If  ill  has  befallen  my  darling,  let  the  perpetrators 
of  it  beware,  for  they  shall  be  hounded  down,  and  a 
vengeance  worthv  of  the  mighty  sorrow  of  an  outraged 
and  suffering  father  dealt  out  to  them,  just  so  surely 
as  yonder  sun  shines. 

"But  if  my  child  has  deserted  me  of  her  own  free 
will — ah,  well,  I  cannot  curse  her — my  dead  wife's 
daughter. — but  I  shall  never  forgive  her.  She  shall 
never  again  cross  my  threshold.  I  will  never  again 
look  upon  her  fair,  false  face,  so  help  me  God!  and 
not  a  penny  of  my  money  shall  be  hers.  I  would 
sooner  leave  it  to  the  paupers  of  the  almshouse. " 


m 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


Waldemar  Waldron  frowned  still  more  darkly. 

a  The  general's  daughter  is  his  legal  and  only  heir," 
he  said,  slowly.  "Let  him  fume  and  fret  as  much  as 
he  will,  she  will  get  it  at  last,  every  dollar  of  it — that 
is,  if  she  is  alive/'  he  added,  quickly. 

"Long  and  almost  endless  litigation,  together  with 
the  fat  fees  of  lawyers,  would  dwindle  the  old  million- 
aire's wealth  down  to  a  very  small  sum,  I  should 
•  fancy,"  retorted  young  Gray,  carelessly;  "and  es- 
pecially if  he  carries  out  the  plan  in  regard  to  Bernard 
Chesleigh  that  he  intends,''  he  added,  ''his  daughter 
would  fare  badly." 

"What  plan?"  inquired  Waldron  eagerly.  "What 
is  it  he  proposes  to  do?" 

"I  haven't  time  to  tell  you  about  it  now,"  replied 
the  young  detective,  apologetically.  "The  fact  is,  I 
must  leave  you  in  order  to  reach  Fairlawn  Villa  in 
time  for  tea;  they  don't  like  to  keep  things  standing 
over  to  oblige  'only  the  housekeeper's  nephew.'" 

Waldemar  Waldron  stopped  and  studied  a  moment. 
He  must  know  the  general's  plan. 

"  Suppose  you  come  and  take  tea  with  me  at  Waldron 
Towers,"  he  said,  waxing  hospitable,  "and  you  shall 
tell  me  afterward,  over  our  wine  and  cigars." 

This  was  the  very  opening  the  delighted  detective 
nad  been  longing  for — a  visit  within  the  walls  of 
Waldron  Towers. 

Only  that  day  Waldron  had  been  humming  the 
words  of  an  old  song  that  would  have  put  him  on  his 
guard  had  he  remembered  them  now. 

"I'll  no  say  men  are  villains  a' 

The  real,  harden'd,  wicked, 
Wha  hae  nae  check  but  human  law, 

Are  to  a  few  restricked: 
But,  och!  mankind  are  unco  weak, 

And  little  to  be  trusted; 
If  self  the  wavering  balance  shake, 

It's  rarely  right  adjusted! 

Yet  they  wha  fa'  in  fortune's  strife, 
Their  fate  we  shouldna  censure, 

For  still  the  important  end  of  life 
They  equally  may  answer; 


THE  HEIR  OE  THE  TOWERS, 


A  man  may  hae  an  honest  heart. 

Though  poortith  hourly  stare  him 
A  man  may  tak  a  neibor  s  part. 
.  Yet  hae  na  cash  to  spare  him. 

Aye  free  aff  han'  your  story  tell, 

"When  wi3  a  bosom  crony: 
But  still  keep  something  to  yoursel 

Te  scarcely  tell  to  ony: 
Conceal  yoursel.  as  weel's  ye  can 

Frae  critical  dissection; 
But  keek  through  every  other  man, 

Wi'  sharpened,  sly  inspection,"' 


CHAPTER  XI. 


A  MYSTERY. 

Waldemar  Waldron  led  his  companion  silently 
through  the  deep  green  coppice  wood  until  they 
reached  the  high  stone  wall  that  closed  in  the  spacious 
grounds  of  Waldron  Towers. 

He  swung  open  the  massive  gate,  and  together  they 
entered  the  house. 

The  old  butler  who  admitted  them  stared  in  amaze- 
ment at  the  unusual  sight  of  a  visitor  accompanying 
his  young  master. 

"Let  us  have  tea  at  once  in  my  rooms,  Mason,"  he 
said  to  the  servant.  "The  accommodations  here  are 
such  as  do  not  warrant  guests,"  laughed  Waldron. 
"The  dining-room  here  is  a  luxury  of  the  past. 
There  are  scarcely  half  a  dozen  inhabitable  rooms 
about  the  place,"  he  added,  turning  to  his  companion. 

"I  wonder  you  can  content  yourself  stopping  here," 
commented  Donald  Gray.  "I  should  imagine  you 
were  a  young  gentleman  who  enjoyed  gayety  and 
plenty  of  life." 

"So  I  do,"  asserted  Waldron.  "This  place  was 
left  to  me  by  the  death  of  a  relative  two  years  ago, 
yet  I  did  not  trouble  myself  to  look  after  it  until  last 
summer.  I  took  a  run  down  here  from  Washington 
then,  and  have  paid  visits  off  and  on  since." 

By  this  time  they  had  readied  the  western  wing,  in 
which  were  situated  Waldron's  suite  of  rooms,  as  he 
called  it,  and  were  soon  doing  justice  to  a  hearty  sup- 
per. 

"Now  then,"  said  Waldron,  as  they  sat  over  their 
wine,  "what  was  the  plan  you  were  speaking  of  in 
reference  to  Chesleigh?  You  said  the  old  general  was 
about  to  put  a  new  scheme  into  execution." 

70 


A  MYSTERY. 


71 


"  I  do  not  know  that  I  ought  to  disclose  affairs 
which  were  never  destined  for  my  ears  to  hear/'  ob- 
jected the  detective,  modestly. 

Waldron  was  about  to  retort,  but  at  that  instant  a 
strange  sound  echoed  distinctly  through  the  high 
vaulted  rooms — a  sound  which  brought  the  swift  color 
iuto  Waldemar  Waldroirs  face,  and  a  glance  of  uneasi- 
ness into  his  eyes. 

"  These  old  shutters  creaking  to  and  fro  on  their 
hinges  make  unearthly  noises/'  he  said,  rising  in- 
stantly and  closing  the  door. 

"  I  did  not  hear  them,"  observed  young  Gray,  inno- 
cently. 

The  master  of  the  Towers  looked,  as  he  felt,  wonder- 
fully relieved  at  those  words. 

The  detective  had  heard  the  unusual  sound,  how- 
ever, and,  quick  as  thought,  had  decided  upon  a  plan 
of  procedure.  He  must  investigate  it,  if  he  had  to  ex- 
plore the  old  Towers  from  top  to  bottom.  Nothing 
must  stand  in  his  way. 

An  experienced  detective  is  always  prepared  for 
such  an  emergency,  and,  quick  as  thought,  when  the 
master  of  the  Towers  turned  toward  the  door  to  close 
it,  he  succeeded  in  dropping  a  few  grains  of  a  sleeping 
potion  in  his  host's  untasted  wine. 

The  effect  was — as  he  knew  it  would  be — while  he 
was  explaining  to  Waldemar  Waldron  that  it  was  the 
intention  of  General  Hastings  to  make  a  will,  leaving 
every  dollar  he  possessed  to  Bernard  Chesleigh,  his 
host's  eyes  closed  wearily  :  the  fair  Saxon  head  sank 
back  among  the  velvet  cushions  of  his  arm-chair,  and 
his  deep  breathing  told  Donald  Gray  the  way  was  safe 
now  from  all  intrusion  to  make  the  long-wished-for 
investigation  of  the  Towers. 

He  must  make  the  most  of  every  moment,  too,  for 
the  effects  of  the  potion  would  not  hold  the  young 
heirs  senses  in  thraldom  scarcely  the  hour  out. 

Snatching  up  a  lighted  taper,  he  hurriedly  crossed 
the  room  and  stepped  out  into  the  corridor. 

If  by  chance  he  met  one  of  the  servants,  he  well 
knew  his  ready  wit  would  stand  him  in  good  need. 
For  half  an  hour  or  more  the  detective  patiently  inves- 


72 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


tigated  every  nook  and  corner  of  the  uncanny  old 
ruins,  finding,  as  a  reward,  little  more  than  dust  and 
emptiness. 

"  What  occasioned  the  strange  sound  he  had  heard  ?  " 
he  asked  himself,  impatiently,  as  he  traversed,  one 
after  the  other,  the  subterranean  passages. 

Surely  his  senses  had  not  been  playing  him  false  ? 

He  was  almost  tempted  to  return  to  Waldron's  apart- 
ments, and  set  this  experiment  down  as  another 
ignominious  failure — when  once  again  the  same 
strange  sound  was  repeated — this  time  with  a  startling 
clearness  there  was  no  mistaking,  directly  over  his 
head. 

He  stood  quite  still  for  a  moment  to  locate  the 
exact  place  on  the  floor  above,  and  as  he  raised  his 
taper  he  saw — what  had  quite  escaped  his'  observation 
before,  shrewd  as  he  was — a  narrow  door,  so  like  in 
color  to  the  panels  of  the  wall  as  to  be  hardly  notice- 
able to  those  unaware  of  its  existence  there. 

In  an  instant  the  young  detective  flung  it  open,  and 
advanced  carefully  and  cautiously  up  the  narrow  car- 
peted stairway  which  it  revealed. 

It  was  certainly  evident,  as  he  paused  and  looked 
about  him,  when  he  reached  the  topmost  stair,  that  he 
had  not  been  upon  this  floor  and  through  this  particu- 
lar corridor  before. 

He  pushed  open  the  first  door  he  reached,  and  found 
himself  in  a  room  tastefully  furnished. 

This,  in  all  probability,  was  one  of  the  inhabitable 
apartments  the  heir  of  the  Towers  had  casually  referred 
to.  He  pushed  his  search  still  further — drawing  back 
the  velvet  hangings,  which  were  closely  drawn  before 
the  arched  doorway  of  an  inner  apartment. 

He  stood  quite  still  and  motionless,  gazing  upon  the 
scene  from  within  which  met  his  view. 

Like  the  outer  apartments,  this  room  was  also  taste- 
fully furnished.  A  silver-shaded  lamp  stood  on  a  mar- 
ble centre-table,,  casting  a  subdued,  mellow  light  over 
'the  bright-hued  velvet  carpet — the  easy  lounging 
chairs,  cottage  piano,  and  general  bric-a-brac. 

A  bouquet  of  wild  flowers,  pansies  and  mignonette, 


A  MYSTEKY. 


73 


filled  a  vase  on  the  dresser,  and  a  bouquet  of  the  same 
flowers  adorned  either  side  of  the  velvet-draped  mantel. 

It  was  evidently  a  room  such  as  a  lady  would  use — a 
lady  of  taste  and  refinement.  And  in  the  centre  of  the 
room,  seated  on  a  low  rocker — her  face  half  revealed  by 
the  silver  lamp  and  half  concealed  by  its  shade  of 
crimson  crystal, — sat  a  young  and  lovely  girl,  running 
her  white,  shapely  fingers  over  the  strings  of  a  guitar, 
accompanying  the  music,  now  and  then,  by  a  few  notes 
of  a  singularly  sweet  and  bell-like  compass. 

This  was  the  sound  that  had  reached  the  young  de- 
tective as  he  sat  in  Waldemar  Waldron's  apartments 
below. 

The  detective's  heart  gave  a  great  throb  of  exulta- 
tion and  triumph.  Had  success  crowned  his  valiant 
efforts  at  last  ? 

One  rapid,  eager  glance,  as  the  face  was  turned  more 
fully  toward  him  in  the  soft  glow  of  the  lamp, — then 
his  hopes  fell  with  the  keenest  disappointment,  as  .it 
flashed  over  him  that  the  young  girl  before  him  was 
not  General  Hastings'  daughter. 

Long  and  earnestly  he  scrutinized  every  feature  of 
her  face.  It  bore  not  the  slightest  resemblance  to  the 
smiling,  dimpled  face  of  the  lovely  little  blonde  whose 
photograph  reposed  at  that  moment  in  his  breast 
pocket.  Not  one  feature  resembled  the  pictured  face 
of  the  general's  missing  daughter. 

He  had  stumbled  upon  a  hidden  romance  ;  but  it 
mattered  little  to  him  since  it  was  not  the  one  in  which 
he  was  interested. 

With  a  keen  sense  of  disappointment,  he  turned  and 
retraced  his  steps  to  the  apartment  in  which  Waldron 
still  sat.  He  had  scarcely  regained  his  seat  ere  the 
young  heir  opened  his  eyes  with  a  start. 

"  Did  I  fall  asleep  ?"  he  asked,  in  the  utmost  aston- 
ishment. "  How  long  have  we  been  sitting  here  ?  I 
must  have  dozed  off  a  minute  or  two  since,  just  as  you 
were  relating  your  very  interesting  story  concerning 
General  Hastings'  plans.  I  certainly  beg  your  pardon 
for  being  such  an  inattentive  listener.  I  was  quite  in- 
terested, however,  I  assure  you." 

"  It  is  my  turn,  I  should  say,  to  beg  pardon  for  en- 


71 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


croaching  so  long  upon  your  hospitality.  It  is  time  I 
was  taking  my  leave/' 

There  was  nothing  more  to  be  learned  from  the 
housekeepers  nephew,  Waldemar  Waldron  told  him- 
self. Therefore  he  did  not  press  him,  any  further  than 
common  courtesy  required,  to  prolong  his  stay.  And 
it  was  with  a  feeling  of  relief  that  he  saw  the  heavy 
iron  gate  shut  to  with  a  bang  after  his  retreating  form. 

"  Can  it  possibly  be  true  the  old  idiot  intends  will- 
ing every  dollar  of  his  property  to  that  infernal  Ches- 
leigh  ?"  he  cried,  grinding  his  fair  moustache  between 
his  white  teeth  in  impotent  rage.  "It.  must  not — it 
shall  not  be.  I  must  put  a  stop  to  that,  too,  at  all 
hazards/' 

He  walked  slowly  back  to  the  Towers,  meditating 
upon  a  strange  problem  that  was  in  his  mind. 

"By  George,  I  must  put  it  into  execution  to-mor- 
row," he  mused.  "  I  am  standing  upon  thin  ice,  with 
the  plank  of  safety  slipping  beneath  my  feet. 

"Yes,"  he  decided,  "to-morrow  this  part  of  the 
country  will  witness  one  of  the  greatest  sensations  that 
it  has  known  for  long  years.  Excitement  will  wrax  hot, 
and  I  shall  stand  quietly  by  and  witness  it  all." 

Meanwhile,  a  new  and  startling  thought  had  oc- 
curred to  the  young  detective.  -  He  had  retraced  his 
steps  hurriedly  back  to  Waldron  Towers,  touching  the 
huge  brass  knocker  with  a  firm,  determined  hand  that 
sent  a  weird,  resounding  peal  through  the  house. 

We  will  leave  Waldemar  Waldron  to  mature  his 
plans,  which  were  to  bear  such  strange  fruit  on  the 
morrow,  and  the  young  detective  to  carry  out  the  start- 
ling design  which  had  caused  him  to  retrace  his  steps 
toward  the  Towers;  and  you  shall  learn,  dear  reader — 
in  the  following  chapter — the  fate  that  had  befallen 
beautiful  Heine,  the  general's  lovely  young  daughter. 


CHAPTEK  XII. 


THE  ELOPEMEXT. 

We  must  now  return  to  the  general's  daughter,  as 
she  stepped  out  into  the  moonlit  grounds  on  her  bridal 
eve.,  sinking  down  upon  the  rustic  bench  in  the  shadow 
of  the  fir  trees. 

Fifteen  minutes  more,  and  she  would  be  Bernard 
Chesleigh's  wedded  wife — she  whose  every  thought  was 
with  the  lover  who  had  been  banished  from  her  side. 

After  to-night  it  would  be  a  sin  to  give  one  thought 
to  another. 

"  Waldemar,  oh,  my  love!"  sighed  the  girl,  holding 
out  her  beautiful  white  arms,  "  I  am  bidding  you  a 
silent,  eternal  farewell  forever. " 

The  shadow  among  the  trees  advanced  quickly  for- 
ward, stopping  suddenly  before  her,  and,  raising  her 
startled  glance,  Eeine  beheld — Waldemar  Waldron. 

She  did  not  cry  out  or  faint.  The  shock  of  sudden 
joy  was  too  much  for  that.  A  sharp  gasp  parted  the 
crimson  lips.  The  light  that  shone  in  the  blue,  up- 
lifted eyes  was  pitiful  to  see.  She  held  out  her  tender 
hands,  and  he,  rushing  forward,  clasped  her  to  his 
heart. 

"Reine,"  he  cried,  hoarsely,  thrusting  the  beautiful 
bridal  veil  back  from  her  face,  "  have  I  come  too  late? 
Have  they  wedded  you  to  my  rival?  " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"Not  yet,  Waldemar,"  she  whispered,  shudderingly. 
"Not  until  eight  to-night.  It  wants  a  quarter  to  that 
time  now.  Do  not  remind  me  of  it.  Let  me  have  a 
few  brief,  fleeting  moments  of  happiness.  Life  will  be 
so  cold  and  dark  for  me  after  we  part." 

"  You  do  not  love  him,  Heine,  my  darling,"  he  said. 
"Why  should  vou  sacrifice  yourself?    You  must  not — 

75 


76 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


you  shall  not!  Why  did  you  consent  to  anything  like 
this?  "  he  asked.  " I  thought  you  would  be  true  to 
me,  Reine,"  he  added,  reproachfully. 

"  I  thought  you  had  forgotten  me,  and  I  longed  to 
die,  Waldemar,"  she  said,  faintly:  and  in  broken  sobs 
she  related  to  him  the  story  Gertie  Traverse  had  told 
her  of  the  beautiful  lady  whom  he  was  seen  in  com- 
pany with,  and  the  fear  that  had  come  over  her  that 
he  had  found  some  one  else  to  love. 

"After  I  heard  about  that,  I  grew  desperate,  Wal- 
demar,"  she  said.  "Then  I  let  them  have  their  own 
way." 

"  The  lady  in  whose  company  they  saw  me  in  New 
York  was  my  cousin,"  he  explained,  glibly,  "a  true 
and  noble  young  lady  who  has  heard  me  speak  of  you  a 
hundred  times,  and  who  takes  the  warmest  interest  in 
our  love  affair,  Reine." 

A  triumphant  smile  wreathed  the  lips  the  fair  mous- 
tache covered,  as  he  saw  how  implicitly  she  trusted 
and  believed  him.  He  had  had  no  intention  whatever 
of  resigning  the  richest  prize  Dame  Fortune  had  ever 
placed  within  his  reach  when  he  went  away. 

He  had  laid  his  plans  adroitly.  To  throw  the  old 
general  off  his  guard  he  had  gone  away.  His  absence 
would  have  another  advantage.  Beautiful  Reine, 
whose  heart  he  had  so  completely  won,  would  be 
brought  to  a  realization  of  what  his  absence  cost  her, 
and  what  life  without  him  would  be  like;  and  the  plan 
he  had  in  view  could  be  more  easily  accomplished. 

Ah!  he  had  guessed  rightly.  The  sorrow  of  his 
absence  had  told  upon  her  greatly.  She  had  hungered 
and  thirsted  so  for  his  love!  Now  that  he  was  with  her 
again,  no  wonder  that  she  forgot  all  the  world — every- 
thing save  him.  * 

The  moments  flew  on  unheeded. 

He  clasped  the  lovely  form  clad  in  her  bridal  robes 
still  closer  to  his  heart,  kissing  the  quivering  lips,  and 
kissing  the  tears  from  her  lovely  blue  eyes,  telling  her 
in  eloquent,  passionate  words  that  it  would  be  death  to 
them  to  part  from  each  other — that  he  could  not  do  it. 
He  could  never  give  her  up  to  another  and  live. 

She  clung  to  him  with  piteous  sobs.    His  caresses 


THE  ELOPEMEXT, 


n 


were  like  strong  wine  to  her  and  dazed  her  senses'  her 
heart  beat  with  happiness;  the  whole  world  seemed 
changed  to  hei\ 

Let  the  gavety  go  on  within  the  walls  of  Fairlawn — 
he  had  quite  another  plan  for  the  bride-elect, 

Married  she  should  be  that  night,  but  not  to  Ber- 
nard Chesleigh.  He  himself  should  be  the  bride- 
groom, and,  once  married — the  mischief  really  done — ■ 
there  would  be  no  help  for  it  but  for  the  old  general 
to  forgive  his  lovely  daughter  and  make  the  most  of 
his  new  son-in-law. 

He  never  for  one  moment  believed  that  the  fond  old 
father  would  disinherit  his  child  and  refuse  her  par* 
don. 

He  broke  his  plans  to  her  gradually;  he  did  not 
startle  her:  he  was  too  wary  for  that.  Gently  he 
painted  to  her  in  glowing,  eloquent  words,  such  as 
yonng  girls  love  to  hear,  how  happy  their  future  would 
be  if  she  would  but  consent  to  wed  him  instead  of  the 
lover  who  had  been  selected  for  her  by  others. 

She  must  decide  quickly — the  moments  were  fleeing' 
swift-winged  by  them.    ^VTas  it  Yes  or  Xo? 

•"'Ok,  YValdemar.  think,"  she  cried,  piteously, 
"they  are  waiting  for  me  in  there!  I  have  given  my 
word  that  I  would  marry  Mr.  Chesleigh.  and  how  dare 
I  break  it?  My  heart  pleads  for  love  and  you,  but 
duty  points  another  way." 

He  gave  a  little  sigh,  thinking  to  himself  that  he , 
had  all  the  weary  way  of  persuasion  to  go  over  again. 

He  pretended  to  look  broken-hearted:  then  spoke  of 
bidding  her  farewell  forever — telling  her  that  he  would 
go  abroad,  and  do  his  best  to  die  there,  and  that  he 
was  mad  to  ever  dream  that  she  could  care  for  one  as 
poor  as  he  was,  now  that  a  wealthier  suitor  was  at 
hand:  that  he  would  go  quietly  away  where  she  should 
never  see  him  more.  He  could  not  blame  her  for 
choosing  wealth  to  a  poor  man's  love. 

He  knew  how  the  words  would  touch  her  tender 
heart.  She  broke  down  utterly,  crying  out  that  he 
was  her  love,  and  she  would  sacrifice  the  whole  world 
for  him. 

It  was  a  sad,  pitiful  story:  tike  fair,  passionate  girl, 


78 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


so  weak,  yet  so  strong;  so  fond  of  him,  yet  so  anxious 
to  do  right. 

Little  by  little — long  before  she  knew  it  herself — 
he  saw  that  she  was  giving  way. 

She  forgot  the  guests  gathered  beneath  her  roof; 
forgot  her  white-haired,  proud  old  father;  forgot  the 
handsome  bridegroom  who  would  be  waiting  for  her  at 
the  altar;  forgot  the  terrible  disgrace  she  would  bring 
upon  those  who  loved  her  so  well;  forgot  everything 
else  save  that  with  her  whole  heart  she  loved  the  man 
who  was  pleading  with  her  to  turn  from  all  else  and 
fly  with  him — to  love  aud  happiness. 

He  showed  her  the*  marriage  license  he  had  brought 
with  him.  He  had  been  so  sure  of  her,  and  her  love 
for  him,  that  every  preparation  had  been  made.  A 
coupe  stood  in  waiting  at  the  fork  of  the  roads,  which 
should  bear  them  to  a  little  village  a  few  miles  distant, 
where  a  minister  was  in  readiness  to  make  them  one. 

He  promised  her  that,  if  she  liked,  they  would  both 
return  to  Fairlawn  on  the  morrow,  and  sue  for  pardon 
from  the  general  on  their  bended  knees;  and  he  would 
not  refuse  to  grant  it. 

kShe  would  not  be  the  first  daughter,  by  any  means, 
who  had  fled  from. a  man  she  could  not  love,  and 
wedded  the  man  she  did  love.  Brides,  and  even  bride- 
grooms, had  turned  from  a  loveless  marriage  at  the 
very  altar. 

"  But  what  if  papa  should  not  forgive  us?  "  breathed 
Reine,  faintly. 

"  Then  I  can  take  care  of  you,  my  darling.  We 
would  be  comparatively  poor,  but  we  can  be  happy 
even  in  poverty  if  Ave  love  each  other.  There  would 
be  no  happiness  for  either  of  us — apart.  Your  father 
can  keep  his  money,  dear;  we  shall  do  very  well  with- 
out it,"  said  he,  who  knew  no  other  god  save  money. 

"But  Mr.  Chesleigh,"  sighed  Reine—" ah,  Walde- 
mar,  he  would  never  forgive  me  for  the  injury  you 
would  have  me  do  him." 

He  took  her  little  ice  cold  hands  in  his. 

"  Ask  yourself  which  is  the  greatest  injury,  Reine," 
he  said,  "  to  promise  at  the  altar  to  love  a  man  when 
you  know  you  cannot,  or  to  turn  away  before  you  have 


THE  ELOPEMENT. 


79 


steeped  your  lips  in  a  wilful  and  cruel  perjury?  It 
would  be  a  sin  to  marry  without  love's  sweet  benedic- 
tion." 

He  bewildered  her  with  his  love  and  his  pleadiugs. 
What  wonder  is  it  that  he  convinced  her  of  the  truth 
of  his  persuasive  argument? 

They  had  been  walking  up  and  down  the  beech 
groves.  He  had  taken  olf  his  overcoat  and  wrapped  it 
about  her,  and  adroitly  he  led  her  to  the  spot  where 
his  coupe  stood  in  waiting. 

He  lifted  her  in  his  arms,  placing  her  upon  the 
cushioned  seat,  his  strong  will  overpowering  hers. 

Half  shrinking,  and  wholly  irresolute,  the  general's 
lovely  young  daughter  clung  to  him  when  he  sprang 
to  the  seat  beside  her.  The  carriage  door  closed  with 
a  sharp,  metallic  click,  and  in  another  instant  they 
were  whirling  through  the  solemn  stillness  of  that 
Christmas  night. 

Weeping  as  though  her  girlish  heart  would  break, 
yet  smiling  through  her  tears,  Reine  Hastings  turned 
from  her  home  and  from  those  who  would,  have  laid 
down  their  lives  to  save  her,  and  went  on  to  her  doom, 
trusting  her  young  life  and  her  future  happiness  to 
one  of  the  most  worthless  of  men. 

She  thought  of  the  father  she  was  leaving,  and  of 
Bernard  Chesleigh,  whose  patient  devotion  to  her  had 
all  been  in  vain:  yet.  clinging  with  tender  hands  to 
the  strong  arm  that  held  her.  she  put  the  past  from 
her,  and  turned  her  young  face  bravely  toward  the 
future. 

"After  all,  to  choose  love  was  best,'' she  told  her- 
self. And  now  that  she  had  seen  Waldemar  again, 
death  would  have  been  easier  to  bear  than  to  part  with 
him. 

So  the  carriage  rolled  rapidly  away,  bearing  the  gen- 
erals lovely  daughter  farther  each  moment  from  those 
whose  love  would  have  shielded  her,  had  they  but 
known  of  her  deadly  peril. 

Many  a  sun  would  rise  and  set,  many  a  season  bloom 
and  fade,  ere  the  father  who  loved  her  so  well,  or  the 
noble  lover  who  would  have  laid  down  his  very  life  for 
her,  would  behold  her  again. 


80 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


She  was  going  to  the  most  pitiful  fate  that  could 
have  befallen  her;  yet  young  girls  will  still  be  dazzled 
by  the  glitter  of  tinsel,  mistaking  it  for  pure  gold, 
even  though  they  read  and  weep  over  the  sad  expe- 
rience of  Reine,  the  general's  beautiful,  impulsive 
daughter. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


THORNS  IN  THE  BRIDAL  WREATH. 

The  carriage  stopped  at  length  before  an  isolated 
stone  church;  the  parsonage  was  close  by  it;  and  here, 
as  expeditiously  as  possible,  Waldemar  Waldron  made 
the  general's  heiress  his  wife. 

"  You  are  mine  now,  darling/'  he  said,  as  he  placed 
her  again  in  the  carriage.  "Nothing  on  earth  can 
ever  part  us." 

Reine  shivered  and  clung  to  him,  listening  with  all 
a  young  girl's  trustfulness  to  the  glowing  pictures  her 
young  husband  painted  of  their  glorious  future. 

"  We  will  go  to  Waldron  Towers  for  the  present," 
he  said,  "  and  pass  the  honeymoon  there.  Your 
father  will  come  around  all  right  in  a  fortnight,  I'll 
warrant.  Then,  perhaps,  we  can  make  some  kind  of 
arrangement  about  going  abroad." 

The  lovely,  timid,  golden-haired  young  creature,  in 
shimmering  satin  robe  and  a  bridal  veil  crowned  with 
orange  blossoms,  clinging  to  their  master's  arm,  cre- 
ated the  greatest  consternation  among  the  old  servants 
at  Waldron  Towers. 

"  The  idea  of  bringing  a  bride  there,  where  there 
wasn't  a  decent  room  in  the  whole  house!"  they  said 
to  one  another.  "Why,  it  was  an  unheard-of  pro- 
ceeding. 

Waldemar  Waldron  strode  down  the  long  winding 
corridor  among  them,  with  lowering  brow. 

"  If  there  is  no  room  ready  for  occupancy,  see  that 
one  is  put  in  readiness  at  the  earliest  possible  mo- 
ment," he  said,  harshly.  "It  is  past  midnight 
already.    The  lady  is  tired  out." 

How  gruffly  her  handsome  Waldemar  addressed  the 
servants!  And  she  noticed,  too,  how  they  shrank 
6  81 


82 


A  EORBTDDEK  MARRIAGE. 


from  their  young  master;  and  they  certainly  looked  at 
her  with  something  very  like  profoundest  pity  gleam- 
ing in  their  eyes.  How  lonely  and  cheerless  the  place 
looked  on  this  eventful  Christmas  night! 

"  Bring  us  a  warm  supper/'  commanded  Waldron; 
"and  that,  too,  as  soon  as  it  can  be  got.  A  long  ride 
on  a  cold  night  sharpens  one's  appetite/'  he  said,  turn- 
ing with  a  smile  to  Reine. 

He  saw  how  pale  and  frightened  she  looked,  and  he 
crossed  over  quickly  to  her  side,  taking  her  little,  cold, 
trembling  hands  in  his. 

"  This  is  cold  comfort  for  you,  my  love,"  he  said, 
bending  over  her  with  his  irresistible  smile.  "They 
cannot  get  over  the  startling  surprise  of  seeing  a  young 
and  lovely  girl  in  my  bachelor  abode.  You  have  quite 
paralyzed  them." 

His  smile  more  than  compensated  Reine  for  the  dis- 
comfort she  was  experiencing.  All  the  gloom  was  for- 
gotten as  she  looked  into  Waldemar's  face. 

"  That  supper  is  a  long  time  in  coming,"  he  said, 
impatiently,  at  last,  rising  from  his  seat  and  starting 
toward  the  bell-cord. 

Before  he  had  time  to  give  it  the  violent  jerk  he  had 
intended,  the  door  suddenly  opened,  and  a  servant, 
with  a  tray  of  smoking  viands,  entered. 

"  You've  forgotten  the  principal  thing,"  said  Wald- 
ron, glancing  critically  over  the  contents  of  the  tray. 

The  old  servitor  started  back,  looking  at  his  young 
master  earnestly. 

"  I  didn't  know,  sir,  as  it  would  be  advisable  to 
bring  it  on  before  the  lady.  Leastwise,  I  thought  you 
mightn't  like  to — " 

Waldemar  Waldron  interrupted  him  with  a  waive  of 
his  white  hand. 

"  Bring  it  on  at  once,"  he  commanded.  "  You  know 
I  never  dine  without  it." 

The  servant  bowed  and  withdrew,  entering  a  moment 
later  with  a  decanter  of  brandy,  which  he  set  down 
before  his  young  master. 

"  Do  you  drink  liquor,  Waldemar?  "  asked  the  young 
bride,  when  they  found  themselves  alone,  her  blue 
eyes  opening  wide  in  surprise  and  wonder. 


THORNS  IX  THE  BRIDAL  WREATH. 


S3 


He  laughed. 

"Does  it  seem  strange  to  you?  I  should  have  sup- 
posed you  were  accustomed  to  seeing  your  father  and 
Chesleigh  indulging  in  exhilarating  beverages  at  Fair- 
lawn/' 

"They  both  abhor  it/'  said  lieine,  solemnly.  "  We 
never  have  anything  of  the  kind,  not  even  at  parties. 
I  am  like  papa.    I  don't  approve  of  \i,  Waldemar." 

He  laughed  and  tossed  off  a  brimming  goblet,  drain- 
ing it  to  the  dregs,  with  a  charming  little  compliment 
to  his  lovely  young  bride,  ending  by  the  laughing  re- 
joinder, as  he  still  saw  how  serious  she  looked  : 

"If  you  are  so  averse  to  it,  my  dear,  you  shouldn't 
have  chosen  a  husband  addicted  to  it." 

Eeine  was  so  grieved  and  sorry  that  she  quite  lost 
her  appetite  for  the  broiled  partridge,  the  dainty  muffins 
and  poached  eggs  lying  so  temptingly  before  her:  even 
the  cocoa  grew  cold  untasted — as  she  watched  her 
young  husband  raise  a  second  and  a  third  tiny  goblet 
to  his  fair,  moustached  lips  and  drain  its  contents  at  a 
single  draught. 

She  watched  him  as  his  eyes  brightened  and  his 
cheeks  flushed,  while  the  white  hand  that  toyed  with 
his  snowy  napkin  grew  less  steady. 

"  I  have  married  General  Hastings'  heiress.  Yes, 
heir  to  a  whole  million,  and  I  am  only  celebrating  the 
glorious  event,"  he  told  himself,  as  he  watched  Reine's 
anxious  face  with  amused  eyes. 

Yes,  he  felt  lordly — quite  a  millionaire  already.  It 
was  only  a  matter  of  time  when  he  should  be  enjoying 
the  old  gentleman's  golden  wealth,  for  he  would  not 
hold  out  against  his  pretty  daughter  and  her  young 
husband  very  long. 

If  the  young  bride  had  not  been  so  completely 
blinded  by  love  she  could  not  have  forgiven  so  easily 
the  odor  of  the  kiss  that  was  laid  upon  her  red  lips  as 
they  rose  from  the  luncheon  table. 

A  week  slipped  away.  And  the  truth  may  as  well 
be  told  plainly — as  it  would  certainly  become  very 
apparent  in  subsequent  events — in  that  wTeek  "Waldemar 
AValdron  began  to  weary  of  domestic  bliss. 


84 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


He  had  been  a  model  young  husband  during  that 
time. 

He  was  so  handsome,  so  gay,  with  such  devotion  in 
every  look  and  word,  that  the  poor  child  thought  her- 
self in  Paradise.  All  that  she  wanted  to  make  her  the 
happiest  of  human  beings  was  her  father's  forgiveness. 

The  next  day  she  had  written  a  very  long  letter  to 
the  general,  confessing  what  she  had  done,  but  now 
that  she  was  married,  praying  him  to  pardon  her,  and 
not  refuse  to  love  her  as  of  yore. 

She  wrote  also  to  Bernard  Chesleigh,  begging  him 
to  forgive  the  injury  she  had  done  him.  It  was 
hardly  legible,  it  was  so  blotted  with  tears. 

She  gave  them  to  Waldemar  to  have  them  delivered. 

Poor  child!  The  hours  she  had  passed  over  them 
was  time  lost. 

When  Waldemar  Waldron  found  himself  alone,  he 
broke  the  seals  without  the  least  particle  of  compunc- 
tion, and  perused  their  contents  at  his  leisure. 

When  he  finished  them  he  tossed  them  into  the 
glowing  coals  of  the  grate.  It  would  never  do  to 
deliver  such  letters  as  these.  She  had  written  to  her 
father  how  happy  she  was  with  the  love  she  had  chosen 
— that  her  bliss  had  but  one  drawback,  which  she 
hoped  time  would  mend.  Her  dear  young  husband 
liked  brandy  a  little,  but  she  meant  to  do  her  best  to 
break  him  of  the  terrible  habit. 

He  ground  his  teeth  with  the  most  intense  anger 
when  his  eyes  fell  upon  that. 

"The  little  fool!"  he  muttered.  "  If  the  general 
were  to  find  out  that — my  besetting  sin — it  would 
ruin  our  prospects.  He  might  not  advance  me  a 
dollar." 

It  was  then  that  he  had  tossed  them  into  the  fire. 

He  had  meant  to  wait  a  little  to  see  how  the  general 
would  take  Seine's  flight  before  he  divulged  their  mar- 
riage and  her  whereabouts. 

"  His  anger  must  have  a  day  or  so  to  cool,"  he 
thought. 

The  next  day  he  received  a  telegram,  demanding  his 
immediate  presence  in  New  York.  He  decided  to 
take  Peine  with  him. 


THORNS  IJST  THE  BRIDAL  WREATH.  85 


"A  week  or  so  of  anxiety  wouldn't  hurt  the  gen- 
eral/' he  concluded,  "  and  it  would  make  him  all  the 
more  anxious  to  pardon  and  receive  his  lovely  daughter. " 

When  they  returned  to  the  Towers  a  few  days  later, 
the  whole  country  was  in  such  an  uproarious  commo- 
tion over  Reine's  mysterious  disappearance  that  he 
grew  frightened,  and  questioned  the  advisability  of 
revealing  the  existing  state  of  affairs  until  the  great 
excitement  waned  a  little.  He  was  totally  unprepared 
for  the  manner  in  which  the  general  took  the  matter; 
and,  to  admit  the  truth,  he  rather  feared  that  the  old 
soldier,  in  a  fit  of  rage,  might  shoot  him  down  on  the 
spot  when  he  stood  before  him  acknowledging  that  he 
had  dared  to  .brave  the  old  gentleman's  warning  and 
anger  by  marrying  his  daughter. 

No;  at  all  hazards  her  whereabouts  must  not  be 
revealed  just  now;  yet,  when  he  heard  that  the  irate 
old  millionaire  was  on  the  point  of  signing  over  every 
dollar  of  his  worldly  possessions  to  Bernard  Chesleigh, 
he  saw  something  must  be  done  at  once  to  prevent  it. 

He  had  had  all  the  lordly  sensations  of  imagining 
himself  a  millionaire;  he  could  not  endure  the  thought 
that  by  any  freak  of  fate  it  should  be  wrenched  from 
his  grasp.  He  had  married  an  heiress,  and  he  must 
look  out  that  he  was  not  cheated  out  of  his  just  dues. 

He  could  make  life  very  charming  and  agreeable  to 
a  wife  who  would  soon  inherit  a  million  of  money,  but 
he  was  no  sort  of  husband  for  a  poor,  dependent  girl, 
thofigh  she  loved  him  to  distraction,  and  was  as  lovely 
as  an  houri  or  a  poet's  dream. 

He  was  used  to  being  idolized  by  lovely  women;  but 
beauty  and  wealth  he  had  never  found  together;  so  he 
passed  them  by  gayly  enough,  until  he  came  across 
General  Hastings'  daughter.  Surely  fate  did  not 
mean  to  laugh  at  him  so  tantalizingly  as  to  turn  his 
golden  prize  to  dead  sea  fruit  on  his  lips! 

Angels  have  fallen  ere  her  time  by  pride. 

That  sole  alloy  of  her  most  lovely  mould. 

The  evil  spirit  of  a  bitter  mood 

And  a  revengeful  heart  had  power  upon  him 

That  very  hour,  when  passion,  turn'd  to  wrath, 

Made  his  whole  soul  a  chaos — in  that  hour 

The  tempter  found  him.  Bulwer  Lytto]S". 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


66  SHE  CHOSE  HER  OWN  PATH,  NOW  LET  HER  FOLLOW 


Reine  pondered  long  and  earnestly  as  to  why  she 
received  no  reply  to  the  loving  letter  she  had  written 
to  her  father  the  day  following  her  wedding.  Was  his 
heart  turned  against  her?  Could  he  not  find  pardon 
for  what  she  had  done,  that  he  so  completely  ignored 
it? 

While  in  New  York,  Waldemar  had  secured  a  maid 
for  her,  who  had  accompanied  them  back  to  the  Tow- 
ers. During  their  absence  a  suite  of  rooms  in  the 
western  wing  had  been  handsomely  re-furnished  for 
her. 

She  might  have  been  very  happy  in  her  new  life — 
it  was  so  romantically  new  and  novel  to  her — if  she 
could  but  have  seen  her  father,  or  have  received  one 
kind  line  from  him. 

She  lived  on,  from  day  to  day,  scarcely  a  mile  dis- 
tant from  Fairlawn,  little  dreaming  of  the  great  ex- 
citement her  disappearance  had  evoked,  and  that  her 
fate  was  wrapped  in  the  profoundest  mystery,  while 
her  father  was  almost  distracted  over  the  matter. 

The  events  that  transpired  in  the  outer  world  never 
penetrated  the  walls  of  the  isolated  Towers. 

Many  a  time  Waldemar  Waldron  almost  cursed  him- 
self for  not  making  his  marriage  known  the  very  hour 
in  which  it  was  solemnized. 

There  was  another  and  a  strong  reason  why  it  should 
have  been  noised  about  that  he  had  won  the  heiress 
of  Fairlawn  ;  he  was  in  debt,  and  his  creditors  were 
pressing  him  hard  for  money,  and  he  had  not  the  least 
notion  of  where  the  money  was  to  come  from,  unless  the 
general  helped  him  out  of  his  scrape,  for  Reine's  sake. 

86 


"SHE  CHOSE  HER  OWX  PATH. 


sr 


The  news  that  the  general  intended  to  sign  over  his 
entire  fortune  .to  Bernard  Chesleigh  brought  him  to  a 
sense  of  immediate  action.  Long  after  the  disguised 
young  detective  left  him  he  sat  pondering  the  matter 
over. 

It  was  just  as  well,  perhaps,  that  he  was  so  preoccu- 
pied; he  did  not  hear  the  footsteps  that  crept  stealthilv 
past  his  door,  as  Donald  Gray,  who  had  gained  an 
entrance  by  means  of  the  front  door  key  which  lie  had 
quietly  abstracted  upon  leaving,  pursued  his  way  back 
to  the  suite  of  rooms  in  the  western  wing  of  the  Tow- 
ers. 

Again  the  young  detective  paused  at  the  same  door, 
opening  it  noiselessly  as  before,  and  found  himself 
once  more  in  the  presence  of  the  dark-haired  young 
woman  seated  in  the  low  rocker. 

It  was  his  purpose  to  question  her  as  to  who  she  was, 
and  what  she  was  doing  there. 

If  he  were  to  breathe  his  suspicions  to  her — show 
her  Waldemar  Waldron's  letters,  couched  in  the  ten- 
derest  words  love  could  frame,  to  another— she  might 
through  wounded  love,  rage  or  jealousy,  unite  her 
efforts  with  him  to  probe  the  deep  mystery  surround- 
ing the  disappearance  of  General  Hastings'  daughter — 
that  is,  if  the  master  of  the  Towers  had  anything  to 
do  with  it. 

While  he  was  ruminating  the  matter  over  in  his  own 
mind,  a  little  white  hand  suddenly  thrust  the  velvet 
curtains  aside  from  an  inner  apartment,  and,  to  the 
detective's '  intense  amazement  and  intense  joy,  the 
original  of  the  portrait  that  rested  in  his  breast  pocket 
— General  Hastings'  lovely  young  daughter,  in  the 
flesh,  surety — stood  revealed  to  his  astonished  gaze. 

"  Honora,"  she  said,  addressing  her  companion, 
"you  may  as  well  brush  out  my  hair  now.  I  shall  not 
sit  up  and  wait  for  my  husband  to-night.  Waldemar's 
hours  are  so  irregular  of  late  that  he  might  not  come 
in  until  midnight:  so  I  may  as  well  retire  at  once/' 

By  this  the  detective  judged  them  rightly  to  be  mis- 
tress and  maid.  He  had  also  made  a  startling  dis- 
covery. Waldemar  Waldron  had  married  the  general's 
daughter. 


88 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


"  Ah,  my  lady,  you  have  been  crying  again/'  said 
the  girl,  bending  pitifully  over  the  slender  form  buried 
in  the  cushions  of  the  blue  plush  arm-chair.  "  Brides 
should  smile,  not  weep.  There's  time  enough  for  that 
in  after  years." 

"I  know  it,"  replied  Heine,  thoughtfully.  "I 
would  have  no  cause  for  one  heart  pang  if  papa  would 
only  answer  my  letters,  and  say  that  he  forgives  me 
for  eloping  with  Waldemar  on  my  bridal  eve.  I 
have  written  him  again,"  she  continued,  drawing  a 
dainty,  cream-tinted  envelope  from  her  pocket,  "beg- 
ging him  to  pardon  Waldemar  and  me.  We  are  so 
happy  together." 

"I  hope  he  will,  my  lady,"  said  Honora,  earnestly. 
"It's  a  pitiful  thing  to  be  estranged  from  one's  family 
on  account  of  marriage.  Husbands  are  so  fickle  now- 
adays, a  girl  never  knows  when  she  has  to  fall  back  on 
those  at  home  for  support  again.  There,  there,  now," 
she  continued,  "I  knew  in  my  blunt  way  I'd  be  sure  to 
say  something  to  offend  you,  I  don't  mean  anything 
amiss,  though,  Mrs/  Waldron.  Your  husband  will 
never  prove  fickle  and  false  to  you.  He  perfectly 
adores  you." 

Keine  looked  up  and  smiled  through  her  tears. 

"Yes,  Waldemar  is  fond  of  me,"  said  Reine, 
thoughtfully,  as  though  persistently  assuring  herself 
of  the  fact. 

"  Do  not  forget  to  remind  me  to-morrow  morning 'to 
give  this  letter  to  my  husband  to  mail  to  papa,"  she 
said,  rising  and  placing  the  cream -tinted  missive  on 
the  marble  table. 

"I  shall  not  need  you  anymore  to-night,  Honora. 
You  may  as  well  retire." 

With  these  words  she  passed  out  of  sight  behind  the 
sweeping  folds  of  heavy  velvet  that  shut  out  the 
interior  of  the  inner  apartment  from  view. 

Imagining  herself  quite  alone,  the  maid  picked  up 
the  envelope,  glancing  curiously  at  the  superscription. 

"General  Hastings,  Fairlawn,"  she  muttered,  under 
her  breath.  "Why,  I  have  often  heard  and  read  of 
him.  I  want  to  know  if  she  really  belongs  to  that 
great  family.    Well,  her  husband's  as  much  of  a  scamp 


"SHE  CHOSE  HER  OWX  PATH.'"" 


S9 


as  lier  father  is  a  gentleman.  Only  married  a  fort- 
night, and  making  eves  at  respectable  maids  every 
time  his  bride's  back  is  turned.  If  it  wasn't  for  re- 
vealing his  meanness  before  her,  Fd  tell  him  just  what 
I  thought  of  him  in  a  few  sharp,  stinging  words.  It 
makes'm}-  Scotch  blood  boil  to  see  such  a  pretty, 
trusting  young  wife  made  such  a  fool  of  as  he's 
making  of  her.  I  shall  always  believe,  after  this,  the 
stories  of  the  ill-starred  results  of  runaway  marriages. 
She'd  better  have  died  than  eloped  with  Waldemar 
AValdron."'* 

She  laid  the  letter  down  on  the  table  again,  took  up 
a  silver  lamp,  and  the  next  moment  had  left  the  room. 

It  was  but  the  work  of  an  instant  for  the  young 
detective  to  glide  from  his  place  of  concealment,  and 
secure  the  coveted  letter,  in  Eeine's  own  handwriting, 
addressed  to  the  general. 

Xo  wonder  the  young  detective's  heart  throbbed 
exultantly  as  he  neared  Fairlawn.  His  fame  and  suc- 
cess were  assured  things  now:  he  had  worked  up 
successfully  the  great  case  of  the  day,  that  was  agitat- 
ing the  public  mind.  He  had  solved  the  great  mystery 
concerning  the  general's  lovely  young  daughter,  and 
had  traced  her  whereabouts. 

Bernard  Chesleigh  was  sitting  alone  in  the  library 
when  Gray  entered  unannounced.  The  moment  their 
eyes  met  the  young  lawyer  knew  he  had  ^news  for 
him. 

"You  have  found  her?''  he  asked,  interrogatively, 
motioning  Donald  Gray  to  a  seat  opposite  him.  "  Tell 
me  all,"  ne  said?  hoarsely,  his  handsome,  noble  face 
paling  and  flushing  by  turns.  "  I  can  bear  anything 
but  suspense.'* 

"I  have  found  the  general's  daughter,  sir,"  said  the 
detective.    "I  have  been  in  her  presence. " 

'•'Where  is  she?'*  gasped  Bernard  Chesleigh,  in  the 
greatest  excitement.  ••'Tell  me  quickly — is  she  alive 
and  well?" 

'•'She  is  alive  and  well,  sir/'*  responded  the  detective: 
f,'and  is  at  this  moment  an  inmate  of  Waldron  Towers 
—the  wedded  wife  of  its  master,  Waldemar  TValdron. 


90 


A  FORBIDDEH  MARRIAGE. 


It  was  with  him  she  eloped  on  the  night  she  was  to 
have  been  wedded  to  you,  sir." 

"  That  has  been  my  secret  fear  from  the  first," 
groaned  Chesleigh.  (<  Poor,  little,  tender  Eeine  that 
villain's  wife  !  No  more  cruel  fate  could  have  been 
meted  out  to  her.  Better  had  you  found  her  lying 
cold  in  death  in  her  coffin.  Poor  girl !  she  has  sought 
death  in  life.  I  wonder  how  the  general  wi.ll  bear  this; 
she  was  the  darling  of  his  heart — his  pride.  This  will 
be  a  sad  blow  to  him." 

There  was  no  need  to  wonder  how  the  news  should 
be  broken  to  the  old  soldier,  for,  glancing  up  suddenly, 
they  saw  him  standing  before  them  in  the  doorway  like 
a  marble  statue.  He  had  heard  all  that  had  passed  be- 
tween them,  but  neither  a  groan  nor  a  sigh  escaped  his 
ashen  lips. 

Married,  was  she !  and  to  the  man  he  detested  ! 
She  had  defied  him,  and  fled  with  the  lover  whom  he 
had  sent  away.  Standing  there,  he  remembered  the 
vow  he  had  made  to  Waldemar  Waldron— If  my 
daughter  marries  you,  not  one  dollar  of  my  money 
shall  she  have.  I'll  leave  it  first  to  the  paupers  in  the 
almshouse." 

Bernard  Chesleigh  rose  suddenly  to  his  feet,  advanc- 
ing anxiously  toward  the  general;  but  the  old  soldier 
waived  him  away. 

"  Leave  me  alone,"  he  said,  hoarsely.  "It  is  the 
greatest  kindness  you  can  do  me,  to  leave  me  by  myself 
to  fight  out  this  fierce  battle." 

Not  a  muscle  of  his  face  moved  as  the  detective  laid 
the  letter,  in  his  darling's  well-known,  delicate  chirog- 
raphy,  before  him;  nor  did  his  face  soften  when  he  had 
read  that  piteous  appeal  for  forgiveness  to  the  very 
end. 

"  She  defied  me,  and  chose  that  villain  ! "  he  said, 
harshly,  as  he  locked  the  letter  carefully  out  of  sight 
in  his  private  desk.  He  had  loved  her  well,  but  never 
could  he  overlook  this.  In  the  future — he  had  no 
daughter. 

By  noon  the  next  day  the  romantic  story  of  Reine 
Hastings'  marriage  was  flashed  broadcast  over  the  wires. 
It  created  a  profound  sensation.    Women,  of  course, 


"SHE  CHOSE  HER  OWX  PATH." 


91 


took  sides  with  the  lovely  young  bride  who  had  fled 
with  the  lover  she  loved  best.  They  said,  too,  that  the 
old  millionaire  would  be  sure  to  forgive  her.  But  those 
who  knew  the  stern  old  general  well,  answered,  "that 
not  even  in  the  hour  of  death  would  he  pardon  her. v 


CHAPTER  XV. 


es  I  WISH  TO  HEAVEN  I  HAD  NOT  MARRIED  YOU." 

Waldemar  Waldron  was  amazed  when  he  heard 
the  next  morning  how  cleverly  the  young  detective  had 
gained  an  entrance  into  the  Towers,  and  had  discov- 
ered the  object  of  his  search  there.  Still,  he  com- 
forted himself  with  the  fact  that  it  saved  him  the 
trouble  of  breaking  the  intelligence  in  person  to  the 
irate  old  general. 

All  that  day  he  confidently  expected  a  summons 
from  General  Hastings,  bidding  him  bring  his  wife  at 
once  to  Fairlawn;  but  no  such  summons  came.  A 
second  and  a  third  day  passed;  still  Reine's  father 
maintained  the  most  rigid  silence  toward  them. 

Waldemar  Waldron  was  more  disturbed  by  this  line 
of  action  than  he  cared  to  own.  His  funds  were  run- 
ning low.  He  should  certainly  be  stranded  unless  the 
old  gentleman  came  to  his  rescue  without  delay. 

Reine  was  seated  in  her  room  that  afternoon,  when 
he  entered  hastily  and  unexpectedly. 

"  Have'you  heard  from  your  father  yet,  Reine?"  he 
asked,  anxiously. 

Her  fair  face  flushed  with  pleasure  to  see  how  ear- 
nestly he  desired  a  reconciliation  with  her  dear  father. 
Ah,  how  kind  of  heart  her  handsome  Waldemar  was! 

"No,  dear/'  she  answered,  crossing  over  to  the 
divan  upon  which  he  had  flung  himself,  and  twining 
her  white  arms  round  his  neck  in  a  caressing,  pretty 
fashion. 

"  Hadn't  you  better  write  again  ?"  he  interrogated, 
impatiently. 

A  lovely  smile  dimpled  the  crimson  mouth;  she  was 
so  pleased.  She  opened  her  writing-desk  at  once  and 
began  another  letter  to  the  father  who  had  so  idolized 
her  in  the  past. 

92 


"I  WISH  I  HAD  XOT  MARRIED  YOU."  93 

Waldemar  watched  the  white  hand  gliding  swiftly 
over  the  page,  and  the  lovely  golden  head  bent  over  it; 
but  it  was  not  of  her  beauty  he  was  thinking  just 
then. 

He  was  wondering  in  what  words  he  should  broach 
the  subject  of  money  to  her,  when  she  gave  him  the 
very  opportunity  he  desired. 

"  Shall  I  tell  papa  we  are  going  on  a  bridal  tour, 
and  if  he  wants  to  see  me — and  you,  too,  dear — that 
he  must  send  for  us  at  once  ?  " 

A  deep  sigh  broke  from  his  lips,  and  he  covered  his 
face  with  his  hands. 

"I  fear  we  shall  have  to  postpone  it,  my  darling," 
he  said;  and  then  he  told  the  same  old  story  that  is  on 
the  generality  of  'men's  tongues'  end:  that  he  had  en- 
dorsed a  note  for  a  man,  and  now  he  had  it  to  pay,  and 
if  he  could  not  raise  the  amount  ruin  stared  him  in 
the  face.  It  was  always  a  man's  supposed  friend  who 
beat  him. 

Poor  Keine's  lovely  face  grew  white  as  a  lily  leaf 
with  fear. 

"  Oh,  Waldemar,  you  are  so  kind-hearted;  of  course, 
you  couldn't  refuse* your  friend.  But,  oh_,  what  a  pre- 
dicament it  leaves  you  in !  " 

Suddenly  her  lovely  face  brightened. 

"  Don't  let  it  worry  you,  Waldemar,  dear,"  she  cried, 
with  a  dazzling  smile.  "  I  know  where  we  can  get  the 
money.  1  will  write  to  papa  for  it.  He  will  send  us 
double  the  amount." 

"Perhaps  it  would  he  the  correct  thing  to  give  the 
old  gent  a  pretty  strong  hint  as  to  how  we  are  situated," 
he  answered,  trying  hard  to  subdue  the  ring  of  triumph 
in  his  voice;  "but  be  sure  to  add  that  I  am  working- 
hard,"  he  went  on,  crossing  his  white  hands  indolently 
on  his  lap,  "  and  that  we  are  wonderfully  happy." 

After  she  had  written  it,  he  took  the  letter  in  his 
hands,  scanning  it  eagerly,  pretending  to  admire  the 
delicately  curved  chirography,  but  in  reality  to  see  if 
she  had  put  it  strong  enough  about  the  money.  He 
was  satisfied  on  that  point,  and  the  letter  was  sent  to 
Fairlawn. 


94 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


Eeine  never  doubted  but  that  her  father  would  re- 
spond at  once  with  a  generous  check. 

She  wrote  so  pleadingly,  so  earnestly,  that  the  stern 
old  general  laid  down  the  letter,  completely  unnerved 
by  the  reading  of  it. 

"  I  shall  not  send  it;  certainly  not,"  he  said  to  Ber- 
nard Chesleigh.  "  I  foresaw  all  this  when  that  scoun- 
drel asked  me  for  my  child.  I  knew  he  only  wanted 
her  money.  Scarcely  married  a  fortnight,  and  calling 
upon  me  for  assistance.  But  not  a  farthing  of  my 
money  shall  go  to  the  spendthrift  who  stole  my  daugh- 
ter from  me.  I  have  sworn  it,  and  a  soldier  never 
breaks  a  vow.  I  shall  write  and  tell  her  I  am  sorry 
for  her,  but  I  cannot  and  will  not  send  her  a  dollar.  I 
shall  tell  her  plainly  that  all  such  applications  to  me 
will  meet  with  a  prompt  and  decided  refusal." 

In  vain  Bernard  Chesleigh  attempted  to  use  his  in- 
fluence with  him  in  Reine's  behalf;  the  old  gentleman 
kept  his  words,  adding,  as  a  postscript,  that  it  would 
be  well  for  Waldemar  Waldron  if  he  never  crossed  his 
path. 

Eeine  and  her  husband  were  at  luncheon  when  the 
general's  letter  was  brought  them. 

"  Open  the  letter  at  once,  Reine,"  said  Waldemar, 
eagerty,  pushing  his  food  away  untasted.  "  Let  us  see 
how  large  a  check  he  has  sent  us." 

He  could  scarcely  restrain  his  intense  impatience 
until  the  envelope  was  torn  open  and  the  letter  ex- 
tracted. 

Lo! — no  check  was  visible!  In  the  greatest  dismay, 
Reine  read  aloud  the  few  stern,  terse  lines  her  father 
had  penned. 

She  had  scarcely  finished  ere  it  was  dashed  from  her 
hand,  and  Waldemar  Waldron  was  crushing  it  beneath 
his  heel,  with  a  face  so  pale  with  passionate  rage  it 
was  frightful  to  behold. 

"  So  that's  the  stand  the  stupid  old  fool  intends  to 
take,  is  it?"  he  cried.  "  Who  dreamed  that  he  would 
stick  to  his  miserable  vow  when  once  we  were  mar- 
ried?" 

In  vain  his  young  bride  tried  to  stem  the  torrent  of 


•I  WISH  I  HAD  XOT  MARRIED  YOU." 


95 


the  wild  imprecations  that  he  hurled  upon  the  head  of 
the  offending  general. 

w  Waldemar!  "  she  cried,  in  horror,  "  remember  you 
are  speaking  of  the  father  whom  I  love." 

But  she  might  as  well  have  attempted  to  stay  the 
mighty  current  of  lava  of  a  burning  volcano. 

"  Waldemar! 93  she  sobbed,  kneeling  at  his  feet  and 
raising  her  little  white  hands  in  terror,  "  I  pray  you  to 
hush  if  you  lore  me!  Oh,  my  love!  my  love!  you  are 
breaking  my  heart!  Do  not  make  me  regret  the  sac- 
rifices I  have  made  for  your  dear  sake." 

He  turned  on  her  like  a  flash. 

"  Sacrifices! 93  he  sneered.  "  I  wish  to  Heaven  I  had 
been  two  hours  later  on  that  accursed  Christmas  night ! 
I  see  you  are  destined  to  be  a  millstone  around  my  neck." 

The  girl  rose  from  her  knees  with  the  dazed  light  of 
a  stricken  fawn  shining  in  her  lovely,  tearful  blue  eyes. 

"Waldemar,"  she  said,  and  she  wondered  at  the 
strange,  hollow  sound  of  her  own  voice,  '''tell  me,  do 
you  love  me  less  because  my  father  refuses  to  send  us 
money?" 

"  I  certainly  do  not  love  you  the  better  for  it."  he 
returned,  harshly,  caring  little  in  his  reckless  rage  how 
the  cruel  words  hurt  her. 

At  that  moment  her  old  fathers  words  came  back  to 
her: 

''•'He  wants  your  fortune,  my  child,  not  you.  Such 
a  man  is  incapable  of  the  beautiful  sentiment,  love. 
Money  is  Jiis  god." 

She  was  only  sixteen — little  more  than  a  dreaming 
child — yet  she  was  beginning  to  dimly  realize  that 
there  were  indeed  bitter  drops  in  love's  alluring  cup 
that  she  had  imagined  would  be  always  so  sweet. 

"  Waldemar,"  she  said,  beating  back  the  agony  that 
was  almost  overpowering  her,  "'tell  me  the  truth.  If 
I  had  been  a  penniless  girl  instead  of  the  prospective 
heiress  of  Fairlawn,  would  you  have  married  me?  " 

He  might  have  spared  that  trusting,  bleeding  heart 
in  his  answer;  but  he  did  not. 

"  A  man  with  my  tastes,  and  with  no  means  to 
gratify  them,  would  be  worse  than  a  fool  to  throw 
himself  away  on  a  pretty  pauper  when  there  are  so 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


many  women  with  plenty  of  money  to  be  had.  I 
thought,  of  course,  that  I  was  marrying  an  heiress, 
and  a  pretty  mess  I  have  made  of  it,  it  seems — curse 
the  luck." 

"  Then  the  love  you  have  lavished  upon  me  was  only 
a  pretence.  Ah,  Heaven,  Waldemar,  could  you,  my 
idol,  be  so  base?" 

"  Have  done  with  this  silly  nonsense  about  love"  he 
cried,  impatiently.  "  Two  weeks  of  it  has  sickened 
me  almost  to  death  of  the  very  word." 

She  staggered  back,  leaning  heavily  against  a  marble 
Flora,  her  own  face  quite  as  pale  and  cold  as  the  life- 
less statue,  sobbing  out  that  "  the  heart  in  her  bosom 
was  breaking." 

He  saw  a  strong  shudder  run  through  the  girlish 
figure;  he  saw  her  raise  her  white  arms  as  though  in 
prayer.  The  golden  lashes  drooped  piteously,  the 
uplifted,  appealing  white  arms  fell  helplessly  to  her 
side,  and  she  dropped,  face  downward,  upon  the  floor 
at  his  feet.  She  uttered  no  cry,  spoke  no  word,  but 
fell  in  the  silence  and  stillness  of  death. 

He  had  not  meant  to  go  so  far — to  reveal  to  her  what 
he  was — a  desperate  fortune-hunter;  but  the  keen  dis- 
appointment of  finding  no  check,  and  awakening  to 
the  truth  that  he  would  get  nothing  from  the  general, 
enraged  him  beyond  the  pale  of  reason. 

He  looked  down  upon  her  for  an  instant.  The  gold- 
en hair,  the  still,  white  face,  and  the  blue  merino 
robe  she  wore  all  seemed  one  confused  mass  to  hifti. 

He  raised  her  in  his  arms — striding  hurriedly  toward 
her  own  apartment — and  laid  her  down — poor,  crushed, 
bruised  flower — laid  her  down  with  a  muttered  curse  at 
the  folly  of  marrying  in  haste. 

He  never  kissed  her,  or  took,  with  gentle  hands,  the 
tangled  golden  hair  from  her  white  face,  but,  ringing 
the  bell  sharply  for  Honora,  her  maid,  he  turned  on  his 
heel,  and  without  one  backward  glance  at  the  white 
face  on  the  pillow,  hastened  from  the  v  )m. 

Oli,  woman  wronged  can  cherish  hate, 
More  deep  and  dark  than  manhood  may, 

But  when  the  mockery  of  fate 
Hath  left  revenge  its  chosen  way — 


!I  WISH  I  HAD  3"0T  CARRIED  YOU." 


9 


Still  lingers  something  of  the  spell 
Which  bound  her  to  the  lover's  bosom — 

Still  midst  the  vengeful  hies  of  hell 
Some  flowers  of  old  affection  blossom. 

John  Gr.  Whittier. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


WOULD  IT  END  IN  A  DUEL? 

Waldemar  Waldron's  romantic  marriage  with  the 
general's  pretty  daughter  was  the  principal  theme  for 
comment  the  whole  country  round.  It  was  discussed 
in  the  drawing-room  by  the  ladies,  in  the  lobbies  of 
the  theatres  by  gentlemen;  but  nowhere  was  it  dis- 
cussed with  more  surprise  than  at  the  club  which 
Waldron  frequented. 

The  excitement  was  all  the  more  intense  because 
Bernard  Chesleigh  was  a  member  of  the  same  club; 
and  more  than  one  predicted  when  they  did  meet  there 
would  be  a  terrible  reckoning  between  them.  A  duel, 
or  something  equally  terrible,  would  be  the  outgrowth 
of  this  affair,  even  though  the  old  couplet  did  say  that 
"all  was  fair  in  love  or  war." 

There  was  general  surprise  that  the  general's 
daughter  should  have  chosen  Waldron,  instead  of 
Bernard  Chesleigh,  so  noble,  so  courteous,  and  honor- 
able. Still,  there  was  no  accounting  for  the  tastes  of 
young  girls.  They  were  really  not  expected  to  dis- 
criminate between  gold  and  dross. 

The  gentlemen — even  his  warmest  friends — were 
too  courteous  to  mention  the  matter  in  Bernard  Ches- 
leigh's  presence. 

Waldron  had  taken  good  care  to  keep  out  of  the  way 
of  his  companions;  but  on  the  afternoon  he  had  had 
his  first  quarrel  with  Eeine,  absorbed  in  his  own 
thoughts,  he  turned  recklessly  toward  his  old  haunts, 
and  soon  found  himself  in  the  very  midst  of  a  curious 
throng. 

He  was  a  capital  story-teller,  gay,  debonair,  and  on 
the  whole,  was  something  of  a  favorite  with  a  certain 
few  of  his  companions,  and  for  the  while  he  was  the 
hero  of  the  hour. 

98 


WOULD  IT  EOT  IX  A  DUEL  ? 


00 


He  was  just  in  the  humor  for  drowning  dull  care 
and  forgetting  the  unpleasantness  which  he  had  just 
passed  through.  Toasts  were  drank,  and  soon  the 
bridegroom  of  a  fortnight  was  in  that  mood  which 
often  overtakes  a  man  who  has  lingered  too  long  over 
the  sparkling  wine-cup — his  wit  was  as  keen  as  his 
tongue  was  loose. 

He  boasted  openly  and  llippantly  of  his  lucky  mar- 
riage with  the  prettiest  and  richest  girl  in  Virginia, 
and  what  a  gay  life  he  intended  to  have  of  it  ere  long, 
when  the  old  governor  relented. 

"  What  if  he  still  remains  obdurate? 13  laughed  a  gay 
young  captain  of  the  Light  Guards.  "What  will  you 
do  in  that  case? " 

Put  my  wife  on  the  stage,*''  he  declared,  with  a 
rude  laugh.  u  She's  got  a  face  like  a  Juno  and  a  form 
like  a  Hebe.  She  could  make  a  fortune  for  both  of 
us.  and — " 

He  never  finished  the  sentence.  Quick  as  a  flash  of 
lightning,  some  one  who  had  just  entered  the  open 
door,  pausing  a  moment  on  the  threshold,  and  who 
had  heard  that  last  remark,  sprang  to  AValdemar 
Waldroms  side,  and  hurled  him  back  from  the  ban- 
queting board  with  his  strong  right  hand. 

It  was  Bernard  Chesleigh. 

"  Hush!  "  he  cried,  sternly.  "Not  one  word  more! 
Xot  one,  I  say !  " 

Only  Heaven  knew  how  strong  was  the  feeling 
within  Bernard  Chesleiglrs  heart  to  fell  the  scoundrel 
to  the  ground  who  dared  breathe  Kerne's  pure  name 
thus,  and  crush  his  very  life  out  of  his  miserable, 
worthless  body,  but  he  controlled  himself  by  a  super- 
human effort,  and  beat  back  the  bitter  anger  that 
surged  in  his  breast. 

Besides,  he  could  see  that  his  companion  was  in  no 
fit  condition  to  defend  himself. 

Quick  as  thought  Bernard  Chesleigh  had  forced 
Waldron  into  an  adjacent  ante-room.  There  they 
were  quite  alone,  and  there  they  stood  facing  each 
other  in  utter  silence — these  two  who  had  such  cause 
for  hating  each  other  so  bitterly. 

It  was  Bernard  Chesleigh  who  broke  the  terrible, 


100 


A  FORBIDDEN  MAREIAGE. 


oppressive  silence.  The  blood  was  boiling  in  his  veins, 
yet  he  spoke  steadily,  calmly,  as  his  stern  gaze  fell 
upon  the  rival  who  had  won  Eeine  from  him  at  the 
very  altar. 

Waldron  attempted  to  speak,  but  the  other  held  up 
his  hand  with  a  quick  gesture. 

"  Not  one  word  will  I  hear,"  exclaimed  Bernard, 
white  to  the  lips — "  not  one  word  that  you  can  offer  in 
extenuation  of  the  words  that  fell  from  your  lips  in 
reference  to — Eeine." 

"Well!"  exclaimed  the  other  coolly — by  this  time 
regaining  his  insolent  composure, — "  as  the  husband 
of  the  lady  in  question,  I  demand  to  know  by  what 
right  you  shall  dictate  in  what  terms  I  use  her  name." 

"As  her  friend,  and  her  father's  friend,  I  cannot 
stand  by  and  hear  her  name  mentioned  lightly — even 
by  you,  who  should  have  all  respect  for  it." 

"How  could  my  wife's  old  lover  prevent  me  from 
speaking  of  her  as  I  will?"  sneered  Waldron, — "to 
attempt  to  interfere  would  be  to  bring  about  that 
which  you  should  wish  to  avoid;  her  name  being  ban- 
died about  all  the  more. 

"You  interfered  in  my  affairs  once  before,  Ches- 
leigh,  and  I  vowed  that  I  would  be  even  with  you,  and 
I  natter  myself  I  have  paid  off  that  old  score  with 
interest." 

The  remark  made  Bernard  Chesleigh  fairly  tremble 
with  rage;  his  pride  was  stung  to  the  quick,  but  he 
dared  not  give  way  to  the  passion  that  was  struggling 
in  his  heart  for  mastery. 

It  was  well  for  Waldemar  Waldron,  perhaps,  that  lie 
turned  at  that  moment  on  his  heel  and  left  the  club- 
house by  a  private  entrance — left  Bernard  Chesleigh 
standing  there  like  a  man  turned  to  marble. 

As  Waldemar  Waldron  walked  homeward  through 
the  sunlit  streets,  his  head  held  high,  his  fair  hand- 
some face  gay  in  its  triumph  over  the  humiliation  of 
Heine's  old  lover,  people  turned  to  look  after  the  hero 
of  the  day — young  girls  with  admiring  eyes,  men  with 
something  very  like  envy.  If  his  heart  could  have 
been  read,  not  one  of  those  who  passed  him  by  would 
have  changed  places  with  him. 


WOULD  IT  EKD  IK  A  DUEL  ? 


101 


It  was  in  no  enviable  mood  that  he  returned  to 
Reine.  She  was  sitting  by  the  window,  her  beautiful 
golden  head  bent  dejectedly  on  her  hand.  She  was 
just  beginning  to  realize  that  life  was  not  the  golden 
dream  that  she  had  pictured  it. 

She  rose  mechanically  as  he  entered  and  advanced 
toward  him,  an  open  letter  in  her  white  hand. 

"It  is  from  papa,  Waldemar,"  she  said,  timidly. 
"  He  says  he  has  boxed  up  all  my  belongings  and  sent 
them  to  me.  Here  is  a  list  of  the  articles.  He  says 
that  in  future  a  rigid  silence  shall  be  maintained 
between  us,  and  that  he  will  never  forgive  me." 

Reine's  diamonds — her  father's  and  also  Bernard 
Chesleigh's  magnificent  gift  to  her — headed  the  list. 

Her  superb  wardrobe,  her  books,  bric-a-brac  and 
pictures,  even  her  pony  and  phaeton,  were  to  be  sent 
her — all  she  had  ever  possessed  at  Fairlawn — together 
with  a  check  her  poor  dead  mother  had  placed  to  her 
credit  when  Reine  was  a  small  child. 

It  had  accumulated  with  gathering  interest  to  the 
snug  little  sum  of  eight  thousand  dollars  now. 

Waldemar  Waldron's  eyes  brightened  as  he  read — 
eight  thousand  dollars.  Ah,  it  was  certainly  a  god- 
send to  him. 

"How  much  are  your  diamonds  worth,  love?"  he 
said,  passing  one  arm  caressingly  around  the  slender 
waist,  and  assuming  the  old  lover-like  fondness. 

"  They  are  worth  at  least  ten  thousand,"  said  Reine. 
"  There  is  a  pair  of  beautiful  solitaire  earrings, 
diamond  studded  bracelets,  and  a  superb  necklace  of 
small,  white  stones." 

There  was  the  stylish  turnout  and  the  pictures. 
That  meant  a  thousand  more  in  cash.  No  wonder 
Waldemar  Waldron,  whose  god  was  glittering  gold, 
was  highly  elated  at  the  gold  mine  that  was  to  be  laid 
at  his  feet. 

Ah  !  what  a  glorious  life  they  would  have  of  it  while 
the  money  lasted.  That  afternoon,  just  as  the  sun 
was  setting,  Reine  received  the  heavy-loaded  boxes  her 
father  had  sent  her  from  Fairlawn.  A  trusted  servant 
was  sent  on  before  with  the  cases  of  diamonds  and  the 
check  her  mother  had  left  her.    Who  had  dreamed,  in 


102 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


that  distant  past,  that  the  clay  would  come  when  poor 
Heine  would  need  it  so  sadly. 

Waldemar  Waldron  set  himself  to  work  at  once  to 
regain  the  love  and  esteem  in  Heine's  heart  that  he  had 
shaken  so  fatally.  She  was  so  young  and  so  trusting, 
and  loved  him  so,  and  was  so  pleased  to  look  on  the 
bright  side  of  life,  that  the  task  he  set  for  himself  was 
not  difficult  to  accomplish. 

He  took  her  in  his  arms,  praying  her  to  forgive  the 
hasty  words  he  had  uttered  that  morning,  telling  her 
that  she  ought  to  have  known  he  never  meant  them. 

The  upshot  of  the  whole  matter  was,  that  they  made 
up  their  differences  with  love's  forgiving  kisses,  and 
again  poor  Reine  was  in  Paradise;  Waldemar  was  so 
kind  and  affectionate  to  her. 

It  was  like  beginning  their  honeymoon  over  again; 
and  after  all,  she  had  heard  that  the  course  of  true 
love  did  not  run  smooth  at  all  times,  and  that  the  mak- 
ing up  between  lovers  was  all  the  sweeter  for  the  little 
rift  in  the  lute  of  domestic  felicity. 

That  evening  Waldemar  took  Heine  to  the  opera. 
They  were  the  cynosure  of  all  eyes.  Many  of  W  aide- 
mar's  companions  of  the  club  were  there;  arid  as  they 
looked  at  the  exquisitely  lovely  face  of  the  little  blonde 
bride,  more  than  one  of  them  thought  of  the  remark 
her  handsome,  dissipated  young  husband  had  made — 
of  putting  her  on  the  stage;  while  she,  poor  little  soul, 
sat  beside  him,  never  dreaming  why  he  turned  so 
shamefacedly  away  from  them  and  riveted  his  eyes  so 
fixedly  on  the  beauties  behind  the  foot-lights. 

Heine's  meteoric  happiness  lasted  just  the  few  hours 
she  sat  beside  Waldemar  Waldron  in  the  crowded  thea- 
tre. 

On  the  morrow  a  strange  and  unlooked-for  event  was 
to  happen. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


"OH.,  CRUEL  LOVE,  WHOSE  EXD  IS  SCORK! 99 

Whek  Bernard  Chesleigh  returned  to  Fairlawn  he 
refrained  from  mentioning  to  the  general  the  episode 
that  had  taken  place  at  the  club  that  afternoon. 

For  long  hours  he  sat  by  the  glowing  embers  of  the 
library  grate  buried  in  his  own  thoughts. 

Now  that  his  meeting  with  Waldemar  Waldron  was 
over  and  past,  he  wondered  how  he  had  so  far  con- 
trolled his  bitter  anger  against  the  man  who  had  won 
Reine  from  him  in  so  cowardly  and  dastardly  a  man- 
ner, as  to  refrain  from  challenging  him  to  a  duel  on 
sight. 

He  had  realized  that  a  blow  struck  at  Waldemar 
Waldron  would  pierce  Heine's  heart  first. 

What  a  pitiful  trial  it  must  have  been  to  Reine  to 
have  greeted  him  in  the  plight  in  which  he  had  re- 
turned home  to  her.  With  all  her  love,  how  her  pure 
soul  must  have  shrunk  from  him. 

Had  he  no  respect  for  his  young  bride,  that  he  dared 
return  to  his  old  vices  before  he  had  been  wedded  a 
fortnight?  How  Bernard's  blood  boiled  with  indigna- 
tion as  he  thought  of  poor  Reine's  humiliation! 

"I  could  not  endure  remaining  here  and  witnessing 
all  that  I  should  be  compelled  to  see,"  he  ruminated. 
"I  must  leave  Fairlawn  and  this  vicinity — at  once." 

It  was  a  sorrowful  parting  between  General  Hastings 
and  Bernard  Chesleigh,  yet  the  general  did  not  press 
him  to  remain.  He  well  knew  the  true  reason  that 
actuated  his  immediate  departure  for  New  York 
city. 

He  was  young,  wealthy  and  energetic;  he  would  be 
sure  to  hold  his  own  in  the  great  metropolis,  if  any 
one  could, 

103 


104 


A  FOKBIDDEK  MAREIAGE. 


Without  even  mentioning  the  name  so  dear  to  him, 
Bernard  Chesleigh  turned  away,  little  caring  whether 
he  ever  saw  the  hills  and  vales  of  old  Virginia  again  or 
not.  He  was  equally  indifferent  as  to  what  became  of 
him. 

Some  men  would  have  sought  to  drown  sorrow  in 
dissipation.  He  was  of  the  class  that  turned  to  hard 
work  as  a  panacea  for  all  human  ills. 

He  had  scarcely  been  in  New  York  a  week,  when, 
glancing  over  the  personals  in  a  moment  of  leisure  one 
morning  he  read,  in  extreme  astonishment  and  dismay, 
that  Mr.  Waldemar  Waldron  and  wife — nee  Miss  Hast- 
ings, daughter  of  General  Hastings,  of  Virginia — had 
taken  up  their  residence  at  No. —  Madison  Avenue, 
and  that  they  intended  to  make  New  York  city  their 
future  home. 

Bernard  Chesleigh  laid  down  the  paper  with  a 
disturbed  face.  He  had  exiled  himself  from  home  and 
friends  in  order  that  he  might  be  spared  meeting  them; 
but  now  here  they  were  in  New  York  city.  Of  course, 
if  they  went  into  society,  he  could  not  help  meeting 
them  sooner  or  later.  How  unkind  of  fate  to  have 
brought  them  here. 

He  was  not  a  block  of  marble  nor  an  icicle  in  human 
form,  such  as  we  often  read  of  in  the  pages  of  very 
prosy  books.  He  was  simply  a  man,  who  had  loved 
with  all  the  fulness  and  passionate  strength  of  his 
noble  nature,  and  it  was  no  light  matter  to  look  for- 
ward to  meeting  the  woman  he  loved  as  the  wife  of  his 
rival. 

When  Waldemar  Waldron  received  Eeine's  belong- 
ings from  Fairlawn  he  turned  every  available  article 
into  cash,  and  proposed  to  Eeine  that  they  should  leave 
Waldron  Towers  at  once  for  New  York  city. 

"  We  shall  see  plenty  of  life  there,"  he  said,  enthusi- 
astically.      The  metropolis  is  always  gay  in  winter." 

He  well  knew  that  the  name  of  General  Hastings 
was  well  known  in  New  York,  and  that  his  daughter 
would  be  received  into  the  best  and  most  exclusive 
society. 

They  took  up  their  residence  on  one  of  the  most 
fashionable  avenues;  and  there  Waldemar  Waldron 


OH,  CRUEL  LOVE,  WHOSE  EXD  IS  SCORN !"  105 


commenced  in  earnest  the  life  suited  to  his  taste — a 
gay  life  and  a  merry  one  as  long  as  the  cash  lasted. 

Reine  had  not  the  faintest  notion  of  where  the  money 
came  from  to  furnish  all  the  luxury  they  were  enjoy- 
ing. She  quite  imagined  that  her  young  husband 
must  have  some  sort  of  an  income.  It  never  occurred 
to  her  that  it  was  the  money  realized  from  her  check 
and  the  sale  of  her  diamonds,  that  furnished  all  this. 

Waldemar  Waldron  was  quite  right  in  his  surmise. 
The  elite  society  of  JSFew  York  opened  its  arms  to  Gen- 
eral Hastings'  daughter  and  her  handsome  young  hus- 
band. 

But  with  this  new  life  came  quite  a  change  for  the 
pretty  young;  bride.  At  first  Waldemar  began  simply 
to  neglect  her.  At  last  he  spent  whole  nights,  and 
sometimes  days  at  a  time,  away  from  her. 

He  considered  it  quite  a  'fine  lark  to  insinuate, 
wherever  it  was  not  known  otherwise,  that  he  was 
single — free  to  woo  and  win  any  fair  maid  who  might 
please  his  fancy. 

"It  could  do  no  harm  to  Reine,  carrying  out  this 
little  joke,"  he  told  himself,  complacently. 

He  liked  to  see  young  girls'  eyes  brighten  at  his  ap- 
proach— to  know  that  their  hearts  beat  quicker  at  the 
sound  of  his  voice;  and  that  their  blushes  were  for 
him.  Of  course,  all  this  would  be  at  an  end  if  they  were 
to  find  out  he  was  married;  so,  why  inform  them  of  the 
fact  when  the  information  was  not  called  for? 

When  they  had  no  visitors  at  home,  or  had  no  invi- 
tations out,  Waldemar  Waldron  spent  his  time  as  he 
liked.  Perhaps  it  was  quite  as  well  that  Reine  did  not 
know  how  he  spent  the  hours  that  she  found  so  sad 
and  lonely. 

Three  months  had  passed;  and  those  months  had 
made  a  sad  change  in  Reine.  She  was  thinner  and 
paler.  The  lovely  blue  eyes  looked  as  though  showers 
of  hot  tears  had  dimmed  their  lustre.  The  fair, 
rounded  cheek  had  lost  its  delicate  contour;  and  if  one 
came  upon  her  suddenly,  they  might  have  seen  tears 
on  the  lovely,  drooping  lashes. 

But  she  was  so  loyal  to  her  handsome,  debonair  hus- 
band ;  she  would  not  even  own  to  herself  that  she  was 


106 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


disappointed  in  her  marriage.  She  was  so  young  and 
loving.  She  longed  for  kind  words  and  caresses.  She 
longed  for  such  expressions  of  fondness  as  Waldeniar 
had  shown  her  before  she  had  married  him. 

It  almost  seemed  to  her  that  the  whole  world  knew 
that  her  husband  did  not  care  for  her,  and  that  she 
was  a  neglected,  desolate  bride. 

Many  a  night  the  lovely  golden  head  was  laid  on  a 
pillow  wet  with  passionate  tears,  while  the  lines  of 
the  poet's  words  often  recurred  to  her  in  the  lonely 
watches  of  the  dreary  night: 

"  Oh,  cruel  love,  to  change  her  tone! 
Oh,  cruel  love,  whose  end  is  scorn ! 
Is  this  my  fate  to  be  left  alone, 
To  live  forgotten,  and  die  forlorn? 
Oh,  the  night  is  dreary;  I  alone  awake; 
My  eyes  are  full  of  tears,  my  heart  of  love — 
My  heart  is  breaking,  and  my  eyes  are  dim, 
And  I  am  all  a-weary  of  my  life ! 
Yet,  all  a-weary,  would  that  I  could  sleep, 
But  deep — deep — never  to  waken  more!" 

It  was  a  sad  thing  for  one  so  young  to  be  so  lonely, 
and  to  be  so  utterly  neglected.  Once  or  twice  she  had 
timidly  gone  to  Waldemar,  with  tears  in  her  lovely 
eyes,  to  plead  with  him  to  show  a  little  more  consider- 
ation toward  her. 

He  caught  up  his  hat  and  gloves,  looking  at  the 
tear-stained,  grieved  face  with  an  impatient  frown. 

"  If  there  is  anything  I  do  detest,  it  is  a  crying 
woman,"  he  observed,  angrily.  "  Do  not  repeat  this 
scene  again,  Eeine.  I  really  cannot  endure  it.  I  shall 
not  return  home  until  1  feel  quite  certain  you  are  over 
this  weeping  scene." 

He  strode  out  of  the  room,  and  again  the  wretched 
girl- wife  fell  face  downward  on  the  velvet  carpet. 
There,  long  afterward,  the  servants  found  her,  uncon- 
scious still. 

In  vain  they  chafed  the  little  white  hands  and  blue- 
veined  temples.  The  fluttering  breath  grew  fainter 
and  fainter.  Kindly  hands  unfastened  the  amber 
satin  dress  she  wore,  and  took  from  the  twining  golden 
Curls  the  pale  roses  that  clustered  among  them,  laying 


"  OH,  CRUEL  LOVE,  WHOSE  EXD  IS  SCORN  ! "  107 

her  on  the  lace-draped  couch,  and  a  physician  was 
quickly  summoned. 

When  he  heard  the  moans  and  bitter  sighs  that 
quivered  on  the  pale  lips  of  the  miserable  young  bride, 
he  knew  perfectly  well  it  was  not  a  case  for  drugs. 

"Who  could  minister  to  a  mind  diseased?"  He 
left  her  a  quieting  compound,  and  recommended  that 
her  husband  should  be  sent  for. 

In  vain  messengers  were  sent  here  and  there  for  him. 
Waldemar  Waldron  was  not  to  be  found.  That  even- 
ing, while  strangers  gathered  around  Heine's  pillow — 
who  had  summoned  the  physician  again,  for  she  was 
growing  rapidly  worse — at  the  self-same  moment  the 
physician  was  gravely  counting  the  strokes  of  Heine's 
pulse,  solemnly  shaking  his  head,  while  those  around 
her  were  weeping  silently — at  that  moment  Waldemar 
Waldron  was  seated  at  the  head  of  a  banquet  table, 
odorous  with  the  breath  of  roses,  making  a  speech  of 
welcome  to  the  gay,  piquant  opera  singer  whose  dash- 
ing beauty  had  taken  New  York  by  storm,  and  in 
whose  honor  he  had  given  this  elegant  supper. 

It  was  three  days  ere  the  notion  occurred  to  him 
that  it  was  about  time  to  return  home  to  Heine. 

He  quite  expected  a  storm  of  reproaches  and  tears  as 
he  entered  his  wife's  pretty  blue-and-gold  morning- 
room.  The  slender,  girlish  form  he  expected  to  see 
was  not  there.  He  ran  lightly  up  the  stairs  to  her 
boudoir.  She  was  seated,  in  a  white  cashmere  wrapper, 
before  the  fire,  gazing  thoughtfully  at  the  pictures  the 
glowing  coals  made. 

She  was  looking  wofully  thin  and  pale  and  dull. 
She  greeted  him  gravely,  answering  his  questions  when 
he  spoke  to  her,  in  clear,  steady  tones. 

He  would  not  believe  that  she  had  been  ill. 

"  It  was  quite  an  ingenious  little  story  to  greet  him 
with,"  he  declared,  "  but  she  could  not  make  him 
believe  it." 

He  never  did  credit  it — not  until  the  doctor  sent  in 
his  little  bill,  days  after. 

"I  had  intended  taking  you  to  a  grand  concert  to- 
night, *  he  said.    "  I  secured  the  tickets  already." 


108 


A  FORBIDDEN"  MARRIAGE. 


"  We  cannot  go,  Waldemar,  because  I  am  so  ill/' 
she  said  plaintively. 

"If  you  choose  to  stay  at  home,  that  will  not  alter 
my  intention/'  he  said,  brusquely.  "I  shall  go  all 
the  same." 

And,  without  a  word  of  compassion  or  pity  for  her 
illness,  he  left  the  house  again — left  her  alone  in  her 
pitiful  despair.  Only  the  angels  knew  what  she  suf- 
fered in  the  hours  that  followed,  while  her  husband 
was  thoroughly  enjoying  the  lights  and  music  at  the 
grand  concert,  amusing  himself  by  scanning  the  pretti- 
est faces  in  the  audience. 

Ah!  ruder  words  will  soon  rush  in 
To  spread  the  breach  tha.t  words  begin, 
And  eyes  forget  the  gentle  ray 
They  wore  in  courtship's  smiling  day, 
And  voices  lose  the  tone  that  shed 
A  tenderness  round  all  they  said, 
Till  fast  declining,  one  by  one, 
The  sweetnesses  of  love  are  gone; 
And  hearts  so  lately  mingled  seem 
Like  broken  clouds,  or  like  the  stream 
That  smiling  left  the  mountain's  brow 

As  though  its  waters  ne'er  could  sever, 
Yet,  e'er  it  reach  the  plain  below, 
Breaks  into  floods  that  part  forever. 

Thomas  Moore. 

There  was  one  lady  whom  Waldron  had  introduced 
to  Reine  to  whom  she  had  taken  a  decided  dislike, 
much  to  her  husband's  annoyance. 

"  Mrs.  Smith  wants  to  be  fast  friends  with  you/'  he 
declared,  with  a  frown  one  day, — "  what's  the  reason 
you  don't  like  her  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,  Waldemar,"  she  returned,  slowly, 
"there  is  something  about  her — not  quite — congenial." 

The  frown  deepened  on  his  face. 

"She  is  not  an  educated  lady,"  she  went  on;  "her 
manners  are  quite  vulgar,  and — she  paints  her  face." 

Her  husband  laughed  long  and  loud  at  that. 

"  I  do  not  like  her  lady  friends  whom  she  brings 
here  with  her,  any  more  than  I  like  herself — they  actu- 
ally seem  to  have  lived  in  a  different  world  from  me, — 
I  do  not  understand  them." 


"OH,  CRUEL  LOVE,  "WHOSE  EKD  IS  SCORN"!"  109 


Again  Waldron  laughed  loud  and  long,  although 
Reine  could  not  see  anything  particularly  amusing  in 
what  she  had  said. 

"  I  have  invited  Mrs.  Smith  to  accompany  us  to  the 
opera/'  he  said;  "see  that  you  treat  her  well — she 
don't  like  your  cold  way — mind,  she's  not  to  be 
slighted." 

"  It  would  not  be  agreeable  to  me  to  have  her  accom- 
pany us,  Waldemar,"  said  Reine  ;  "  you  ought  certainly 
to  have  consulted  me  before  asking  her." 

"  Nonsense/'  he  declared.  "  She's  the  rage  of  New 
York — there's  not  a  man  but — "  he  stopped  short, 
and  looked  a  little  embarrassed,  Reine  thought — "  but/' 
he  added,  after  stopping  to  cough  slightly,  "  but 
would  be  delighted  to  have  her  in  their  box — with  his 
wife." 

Reine  sighed,  telling  herself  silently  that  the  pres- 
ence of  Mrs.  Smith  would  spoil  her  pleasure  of  hearing 
"Norma." 

"I  invited  her  here  to  dine  with  us,"  he  explained, 
"  thinking  that  would  please  you." 

Mrs.  Smith  arrived  late,  and  when  she  had  thrown 
off  her  wraps,  Reine  looked  at  her  in  amazement, — her 
style  of  costume  was  a  little  peculiar.  Mrs.  Smith  evi- 
dently observed  it.    She  said,  nonchalantly, 

"  I  came  prepared  to  go  to  the  opera, — we  must  go 
early,  my  dear  Sirs.  Waldron.  It  is  to  be  a  gala  night; 
there  will  be  quite  a  crush  of  all  the  upper  crust  of 
New  York — all  the  elite  I  mean." 

Reine  did  not  reply. 

Very  soon  Waldemar  joined  them,  and  it  almost 
seemed  to  Reine  her  husband  actually  forgot  her  pres- 
ence, he  was  so  engrossed  in  bandying  jokes — yes, 
jokes — with  the  golden  haired  Mrs.  Smith. 

For  a  few  moments  after  dinner,  Reine  found  herself 
alone  with  her  husband, — she  hurried  to  his  side  with 
a  pale,  perturbed  face. 

"  Oh,  Waldemar,"  she  cried  in  distress,  "  I  cannot 
go  to  the  opera  with  Mrs.  Smith  in  that — that  dress.  I 
— I — should  die  of  mortification." 

"What  is  the  matter  with  it  ?"  he  demanded.  "  I 
thought  it  was  something  stunning." 


110 


A  FORBIDDEK  MARRIAGE. 


Reine's  face  flushed  in  dismay — "  I  should  think  you 
would  see  for  yourself,  Waldemar,"  she  murmured, — 
"  there — there  is  not  much — to — to — the  waist." 

"  Humph  !"  sneered  Waldron,  "that's  only  your 
prudish  taste.  That's  called  decollette  by  women  of 
fashion;  I  should  think  you  would  know  that." 

"  I  call  it  by  another  name,  Waldemar,"  she  replied; 
"  it  is — immodest.  I — I — think  I  should  die  of  shame 
if  I  had  to  sit  beside  Mrs.  Smith  in  that  dress." 

"Don't  make  a  fool  of  yourself,  Reine,"  he  cried, 
seizing  her  arm  roughly.  "  Don't  dare  tell  Mrs.  Smith 
that;  you  would  make  an  enemy  of  her  for  life." 

"  Well,  what  if  I  do?"  she  answered,  spiritedly. 

"You  would  rue  it  to  the  last  day  of  your  life,"  he 
hissed.  "  You  shall  go  to  the  opera  with  her  and  make 
yourself  as  agreeable  as  you  know  how." 

Reine  went,  but  it  was  with  one  of  the  heaviest  of 
hearts.  As  she  had  expected,  all  the  lorgnettes  in  the 
house  were  repeatedly  turned  to  their  box.  Reine 
shrank  behind  the  silken  curtains.  Mrs.  Smith 
seemed  to  enjoy  this  close  scrutiny  hugely. 

It  was  a  great  relief  to  Reine  when  the  long  evening 
was  over,  and  they  were  en  route  horns. 

"1  never  enjoyed  myself  so  well  in  all  my  life," 
declared  Mrs.  Smith,  enthusiastically,  as  she  parted 
from  Reine.  "It  was  a  grand  social  triumph  for 
me." 

Those  words  puzzled  Reine  for  long  hours  afterward. 
She  was  to  know  the  meaning  of  them  all  too  soon. 
On  the  day  following  this  event  a  lady  called,  whose 
friendship  Reine  prized  highly. 

She  greeted  Reine  with  a  grave  face,  and  during  the 
course  of  the  conversation,  the  lady  brought  around 
the  subject  of  the  opera  of  the  previous  evening. 

"I  saw  you  in  your  box,  Mrs.  Waldron,"  she  said, 
"but — for  the  moment,  I  could  hardly  persuade  my- 
self that  it  really  was  your  box." 

"Why?"  asked  Reine,  smiling. 

"I  do  not  know  as  I  should  speak  about  it;  still,  I 
feel  it  is  my  duty  to  enlighten  you,  my  dear,"  returned 
the  lady.  "Please  remember  it  is  only  the  friendly 
interest  I  feel  in  you  that  forces  me  as  it  were,  to 


"OH,  CRUEL  LOVE,   WHOSE  END  IS  SCORX  ! 


Ill 


speak:  to  put  it  plainly,  the  person  who  was  with  you, 
is  a  creature  no  lady  who  values  her  reputation  can  be 
seen  speaking  to.  Of  course  you  did  not  knoAv;  she  is 
a  near  neighbor  and  appears  to  be  a  woman  of  wealth, 
but  ah,  my  dear,  such  as  she  are  the  world's  sharks. 
I  pray  you,  close  your  doors  against  her.  Do  you 
comprehend  me?'v 

Eeine  was  too  shocked  for  utterance. 

"I  told  my  husband  from  the  very  first  I  did  not 
like  Mrs.  Smith/"  she  said. 

"  Smith ! "  cut  in  Berne's  friend;  "  why,  my  clear,  that 
is  not  her  name,  she  is  called  the  notorious  Madame 
Eglantine.  She  has  wealth  and  beauty  that  a  prin- 
cess might  envy,  but  good  women  shun  her  as  they 
would  a  scorpion. " 

"It  is  so  strange  that  my  husband  did  not  know," 
said  innocent  Eeine;  "  but  then  we  have  not  been  long 
in  Xew  York  city.'' 

"  Very  strange,"  repeated  the  lady:  and  she  soon 
after  took  her  leave,  congratulating  herself  as  she 
rolled  away  in  her  carriage,  that  she  had  opened  Mrs. 
Waldron's  eyes  to  what  was  going  on;  it  was  her  duty 
to  do  so. 

Quite  shocked,  Eeine  sat  down  before  the  fire, 
thinking  the  matter  over. 

Wife-like,  the  moment  Waldemar  came  in  she  told 
him  of  what  she  had  heard. 

"It  isn't  true/'  he  declared,  a  dull,  red  flush  suffus- 
ing his  face.  "  If  you  believe  all  these  tattling  old 
busy-bodies  have  to  say,  you  would  have  enough  to  do. 
"Why,  when  a  pack  of  them  get  together,  they'd  blast 
the  reputation  of  the  Virgin  Mary  if  they  could. 
Mrs.  Smith  is  a  gay  young  widow;  these  homely  old 
women  are  simply  jealous  of  her,  that's  all." 

"Is  her  name  Mrs.  Smith,  or  Madame  Eglantine, 
"Waldemar?"  she  asked,  firmly,  "'and  how  did  you 
come  to  know  her?" 

"  I  do  not  recollect  now,"  he  replied,  adding,  "  She 
is  to  go  with  us  to  the  concert  to-night,  again." 

"If  she  goes,  I  stay  at  home,"  said  Eeine.  "I  am 
amazed  that  you  should  expect  me  to  associate  with 
one  against  whose  fair  fame  there  is  even  the  slightest 
stain." 


112 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


With  a  muttered  imprecation,  Waldron  strode  from 
the  room,  vowing  that  he  should  take  Mrs.  Smith  to 
the  concert  that  night  in  spite  of  all  the  prudes  in 
Christendom,  and  if  she  would  not  go  with  him,  that 
he  should  go  alone.  She  heard  him  hum  as  he  ran 
down  the  stairs  and  lower  corridor: 

"  Devoted  love  will  find  its  way 
Thro'  paths  where  wolves  would  fear  to  prey, 
And  if  it  dares  so  much,  'twere  hard, 
Suah  brave  love  met  not  some  reward." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


"  GKEAT  HEAVEX  !   IT  IS  EEI^E  ! 99 

Whejt  Reine  had  come  to  New  York  from  AYaldron 
Towers,  she  had  insisted  upon  bringing  Honora  Allen, 
her  maid,  with  her. 

"I  have  never  been  among  strangers,  Waldemar," 
she  said.    "  I  must  see  a  few  familiar  faces  about  me.y 

Her  husband  had  demurred  at  first.  He  could  not 
endure  the  girl  who  was  so  devoted  to  his  wife,  and 
who  seemed  to  have  such  a  cordial  dislike  of  himself; 
but  in  the  end  Reine's  maid  went  with  her. 

And  the  time  came  when  she  was  more  like  a  coun- 
sellor and  trusted  friend  to  the  desolate  little  bride 
than  a  paid  companion.  She  had  seen  from  the  first 
how  this  ill-starred  marriage  would  turn  out.  She 
was  not  surprised  that  Mr.  Waldron  had  gone  to  the 
grand  concert  leaving  his  sick  wife  at  home. 

She  found  Reine  still  seated  in  her  arm-chair  by  the 
glowing  fire,  sobbing  as  though  her  heart  would  break. 

"Oh,  my  lady,"  cried  the  girl  distressedly,  "you 
must  not  take  on  so,  and  you  so  weak  and  sick; 
indeed,  you  must  not." 

Reine  struck  her  little  white,  fluttering  hands 
together  with  passionate  fervor. 

"I  cannot  help- it,"  she  cried.  "I  am  so  wretched, 
Honora;  my  heart  is  dead — my  life  is  empty.  He  can 
go  to  the  concert  to-night  knowing  I  am  ill." 

She  crept  up  nearer  to  faithful  Honora,  clutching 
her  hands  with  a  gasping  sob. 

"  He  would  not  care  if  I  were  to  die,"  she  said, 
despairingly.  "  He  would  not  miss  me.  No  stranger 
could  be  more  cold  and  more  careless  to  me,"  she 
went  on.  " 1  am  growing  frightened  at  myself, 
Honora.  I  cannot  tell — I  dare  not  think — how  it  will 
8  113 


114 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


end.  I  loved  him  better  than  all  the  world,  when  I 
married  him,  but  now — I  am  beginning  to  dislike  him. 
It  has  come  to  that  at  last." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  lady,  that  is  very  wrong — very  wrong 
indeed!    A  wife  should  never  dislike  her  husband." 

4 '  Should  a  husband  ever  dislike  his  wife?"  cried 
Keine,  hoarsely.  "  Because  my  husband  does  dislike 
me,  I  am  frightened  at  myself,  Honora;  for,  if  mat- 
ters go  on  this  way  much  longer,  I  shall  hate  him!  " 

That  night  no  sleep  came  to  her.  She  was  think- 
ing, hour  after  hour,  what  she  was  to  do.  She  saw  no 
light  in  the  dark  clouds  which  obscured  the  future — 
no  hope  for  her.  The  years  stretched  out  dark  and 
gloomy.  And  this  was  the  man  for  whom  she  had 
thrown  away  another  love,  which  was  as  noble  as  it  was 
tender  and  devoted.  Then,  for  the  first  time,  she 
commenced  to  compare  Waldemar  Waldron  with  Ber- 
nard Chesleigh. 

She  knew,  Heaven  help  her,  that  she  had  chosen 
glittering  tinsel  instead  of  solid  gold. 

It  was  too  late  for  regrets  now.  She  had  sealed  her 
own  doom — walked  into  the  pit  with  open  eyes.  In 
open  defiance,  she  had  married  the  man  they  had 
warned  her  against,  and  now  her  folly  had  come  home 
to  her. 

The  sight  would  have  stricken  the  old  general  mad, 
could  he  have  seen  his  beautiful  daughter  pacing  up 
and  down  her  room,  crying  out  that  life  was  too  bitter 
to  bear.  If  he  could  but  have  seen  how  she  struck  her 
white  breast  with  clasped,  clenched  hands,  praying  to 
die;  only  those  who  know  what  it  is  to  be  a  neglected, 
unloved  wife  can  realize  what  she  suffered,  when  she 
was  praying  to  die  and  end  it  all. 

The  servants — those  secret  messengers  in  households 
— soon  gossipped  the  story  about  that  his  pretty  young 
bride  did  not  have  any  too  much  attraction  for  Walde- 
mar Waldron.  Bernard  Chesleigh  heard  these  stories, 
and  was  the  only  one  who  looked  on  with  sorrowful  re- 
gret. 

He  did  not  wonder  that  she  threw  herself  into  the 
whirlpool  of  fashionable  life. 

Those  who  met  her,  told  how  gay,  brilliant,  pol- 


£(  GEE  AT  HEAVEK  !   IT  IS  KEINE  !  "  115 

ished,  sarcastic,  and  animated  Waldemar  Waldron's 
young  wife  was  becoming.  She  seemed  possessed  of  a 
restless  idea  of  always  wanting  excitement. 

An  hour's  quiet  was  more  than  she  could  endure,  and 
people  who  wondered  at  her  high  spirits,  her  brilliant 
smiles,  her  clever  repartees,  never  guessed  that  all  this 
covered  the  sorest  of  hearts. 

She  was  becoming  quite  noted  in  society  as  a  beauty 
too. 

Waldemar  Waldron  was  quite  astonished.  He  won- 
dered curiously  what  people  could  see  in  Eeine  to  rave 
over.  As  for  himself,  he  never  considered  any  one 
save  dazzling  brunettes  particularly  beautiful. 

Bernard  Chesleigh  had  avoided  meeting  Eeine.  He 
knew  that  it  would  affect  him  greatly  to  see  such  a 
change  in  her  as  he  knew  must  have  taken  place.  How 
he  pitied  her  when  he  heard  the  whispers  that  floated 
now  and  then  to  his  troubled  ears. 

"  She  is  trying  to  drown  her  sorrow  in  the  continual 
whirl  of  excitement,"  he  thought;  "but  she  will  not 
succeed,  and  the  reaction,  when  it  comes,  will  be  ter- 
rible for  her." 

He  longed  for  a  chance  of  speaking  to  her  without 
seeming  to  interfere.    That  chance  came  at  last. 

He  had  attended  a  grand  ball  at  one  of  the  fashion- 
able residences  of  Gramercy  Park.  He  had  scarcely 
entered  the  spacious  ball-room  ere  his  host  touched 
him  lightly  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Come  with  me,  Chesleigh,"  he  said.  "  I  have  an 
excellent  partner  for  you  for  the  next  waltz — the  most 
graceful  as  well  as  the  most  beautiful  lady  in  the  room. 
Come  and  let  me  present  you." 

Thoughtlessly  enough,  he  went  Avith  him  to  the  end 
of  the  rose-embowered  ball-room.  A  slight,  graceful 
figure  was  seated  on  a  rustic  bench,  surrounded  by  a 
circle  of  admirers,  who  reluctantly  drew  back  and  made 
way  for  their  host  and  the  tall,  commanding  stranger. 

"  In  the  dark,  our  fortunes  often  meet  us; 
If  fate  be  not,  then  what  can  we  foresee? 
Or  how  can  we  avoid  it,  if  it  be? 
If  by  free-will,  in  our  own  paths  we  move, 


116 


A  FORBIDDEX  MARRIAGE. 


How  are  we  bounded  by  decrees  above? 

Whether  we  move,  or  whether  we  are  driven — 
If  ill  'tis  ours;  if  good,  the  act  of  Heaven." 

Reine — for  it  was  she — turned  carelessly  to  see  who 
the  new-comer  was  who  stood  before  her. 

One  glance.  Ah,  Heaven!  It  was  a  wonder  she  did 
not  fall  dead  at  his  feet.  It  was  Bernard  Chesleigh 
who  stood  before  her.  Would  he  turn  from  her  in 
haughty,  withering  scorn?  Or  would  he  denounce  her 
before  that  brilliant  gathering,  crying  out,  sternly  and 
rebu  kingly: 

"  So  it  is  thus  that  we  meet  again,  is  it,  my  fair  love, 
who  deserted  me  and  disgraced  me  so  heartlessly  at 
the  altar?  » 

Perhaps  he  would  curse  her.  She  had  borne  so 
much  already,  one  bitter  word  would  slay  her. 

Over  the  crash  of  the  gay  dance  music  she  heard 
their  host  go  through  the  formula  of  introducing 
them. 

Not  one  muscle  of  the  girl's  beautiful  white  face 
quivered.  The  little  hand  that  held  the  bouquet  of 
rare  white  blossoms  did  not  tremble.  She  stood  before 
the  man  she  had  so  cruelly  slighted,  like  a  white 
fawn  at  bay  awaiting  her  doom.  Perhaps  he  read  the 
dumb  agony  she  was  enduring  in  the  piteous,  appeal- 
ing eyes  so  dazed  and  agonizing  in  their  blue  depths. 

But  the  doom  she  was  expecting  did  not  fall  then  on 
that  beautiful  golden  head.  Was  she  mad,  or  dream- 
ing? Bernard  Chesleigh  held  out  his  strong  white 
hand  to  her  with  a  grave,  sorrowful  smile. 

"  This  lady  and  I  are  old  friends,"  he  explained. 
Then  their  host  went  away,  leaving  them  alone  to- 
gether. 

"  Do  not  shrink  from  me,  Reine,"  he  said,  gently. 
"The  past  is  over  between  us;  I  have  forgiven  and 
forgotten  long  ago.  I  cannot  bring  myself  to  feel  any- 
thing but  friendship  for  you.  I  do  not  blame  or  re- 
prove you.  It  was  not  your  fault,  my  poor  child,  if 
you  could  not  love  me." 

She  could  scarcely  believe  that  she  saw  and  heard 
aright.    Was  he  holding  out  his  hand — that  noble 


"  GREAT  HEAVEN  3  IT  IS  REIXE  !  ' 


nr 


hand  that  she  had  scorned — and  was  he  speaking 
kindly  to  her? 

A  torrent  of  tears  rushed  to  her  eyes,  her  face  grew 
deadly  pale.  Of  the  two,  she  was  most  likely  to  create 
a  scene  by  breaking  down  completely — her  heart  was  so 
sore,  so  desolate  and  lonely,  kind  words  had  overpow- 
ered her. 

"  Come  out  into  the  conservatory,  Beine/'  he  said, 
drawing  the  little,  ice-cold  hand — ah!  so  cold,  even 
through  the  tiny  glove — within  his  arm.  "  Do  not 
attempt  to  speak  until  you  can  control  your  emotions. 
See,  people  are  watching  us.  Keep  tears  back  from 
your  eyes;  force  a  smile  to  your  lips,  I  pray  you." 

Silently  he  lead  her  from  the  glittering  ball-room, 
from  among  the  sheen  of  satin  and  glimmering  dia- 
monds, out  among  the  cool,  green  shadows  and 
softened  lights  of  the  fernery. 

He  stood  quietly  before  her,  his  arms  folded  thought- 
fully over  his  breast,  while  the  tears  fell  like  rain 
from  her  lovely  eyes.  He  did  not  attempt  to  break 
in  upon  her  thoughts. 

Perhaps  the  sight  of  his  face  reminded  her  all  too 
painfully  of  the  days  when  she  was  the  loved  and 
petted  heiress  of  dear  old  Fairlawn. 

"You  are  good  to  think  so  kindly  of  me,  Mr.  Ches- 
leigh,"  she  faltered.  "  I  did  you  an  irreparable  wrong; 
but  I  have  been  sufficiently  punished  for  it." 

She  turned  away  in  confusion.  Xot  for  worlds 
would  she  have  him  know  that  life  was  going  all  wrong 
with  her;  that  the  idol  she  had  flung  away  his  honest, 
noble  love  for,  she  had  found  sordid  clay.  Xot  for 
worlds  would  she  have  him  know  she  was  that  most 
pitiful  of  all  God's  creatures,  a  neglected,  desolate,  un- 
loved wife. 

Every  sigh  that  fell  from  her  lips,  every  tear  from 
her  lovely  eyes,  touched  him  keenly  to  the  heart,  like 
the  sharp  thrust  of  a  sword.  He  would  have  laid  down 
his  life  if  the  sacrifice  of  it  could  but  have  made  her 
happy. 

At  that  moment  she  remembered  that  Waldemar  had 
asked  her  to  dance  the  Lancers  with  him.  and  the  mu- 
sic was  striking  up  already.    What  would  the  conse- 


118 


A  FOKBIDDEK  MARKIAGE. 


quence  be  if  he  came  to  look  for  her,  and  found  her 
sitting  there  talking  to  the  one  man  above  all  others 
whom  he  hated — her  old  lover?  There  might  be  a 
fierce  quarrel  between  them.  Her  heart  beat;  she 
grew  strangely  nervous.  She  must  get  back  to  the 
ball-room  at  once.  Before  she  could  put  the  resolve 
into  execution,  hurried  steps  were  heard  approaching. 
She  sank  back,  pale,  breathless  and  trembling,  almost 
fainting,  as  she  heard  her  name  called  in  a  quick, 
impatient  voice. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


A  NOBLE  FOE. 

"I  am  here,"  said  Eeine,  pushing  back  the  thick, 
clustering  magnolia  branches  that  screened  her  from 
yiew. 

It  was  one  of  the  servants.  He  looked  at  the  beau- 
tiful, pale-faced  girl,  slightly  abashed,  as  though  un- 
certain how  to  proceed  with  the  delicate  mission  upon 
which  he  had  been  sent. 

"What  did  you  want  of  me?"  asked  Reine,  ner- 
vously clutching  more  tightly  at  the  flowers  she  held 
in  her  cold,  trembling  fingers. 

A  moment  only  the  man  hesitated.  It  was  a  thou- 
sand pities  to  tell  her  what  he  had  come  there  to  say, 
but  it  must  be  done.  He  touched  his  cap  respectfully, 
flushing  slightly. 

"If  you  please,  madam,  I  would  like -you  to  use 
your  influence  with  your  husband  to  restrain  him  from 
going  to  the  ball-room  just  now.  He  looks — quite — 
quite— ill." 

No  word  broke  from  Reine  Waldron's  white,  set  lips. 
She  knew  as  well  as  the  servant  did  what  was  the  mat- 
ter with  her  reckless,  handsome  husband,  and  why 
they  were  so  fearful  he  should  re-enter  the  ball-room. 

"Where  is  he?"  she  asked,  in  a  frightened  voice. 
"Conduct  me  to  him  at  once,  please." 

Bernard  Chesleigh  drew  her  back. 

"Let  me  attend  to  this  matter  for  you,"  he  said, 
pityingly. 

She  drew  back  with  something  very  like  the  old 
pride. 

She  could  not  bear  the  thought  that  he  should  see 
Waldemar  Waldron  in  the  way  in  which  she  knew  she 
should  find  him. 

119 


120 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


•  "  You  could  not  help  me  in  this  matter.  I  thank 
you,  though,  for  the  proffered  kindness.  If  you  will 
conduct  me  to  the  cloak-room  to  get  my  wraps,  I  shall 
be  much  obliged.  I  shall  not  return  to  the  ball-room 
again.  If  my  husband  is  ill,  I  must  see  that  he  is 
taken  home  at  once." 

Bernard  Chesleigh  offered  her  his  arm  in  silence. 
He  could  feel  the  slight  form  that  clung  to  his  arm 
tremble  like  a  leaf  in  a  storm.  He  saw  the  lovely  face 
flush  and  pale;  and  the  feverish  light  deepened  in  the 
blue  eyes. 

They  had  to  pass  from  the  conservatory  through  the 
lower  end  of  the  ball-room,  in  order  to  reach  the  cloak- 
room and  suite  of  apartments  beyond,  in  which  she 
was  told  she  would  find  Waldemar. 

Gently  Bernard  Chesleigh  folded  her  velvet  wrap 
about  her.  The  snowy  swan's-down  that  bordered  it 
was  not  more  white  than  Reine's  pallid  face. 

One  moment  she  glances  at  the  brilliant  ball-room 
which  she  must  leave  ere  the  mirth  of  the  evening  is 
fairly  begun;  and  in  that  moment  some  one  rushes 
past  her  toward  the  green-arched  ball-room,  and  stands, 
flushed  and  excited,  on  the  threshold. 

A  low  cry  breaks  from  Heine's  lips.  It  is  Waldemar. 
She  sees  plainly  that  the  servant  is  right.  He  must 
not  enter  the  ball-room  again.  Quick  as  thought  she 
is  by  his  side.  Her  little  white  hands  clutch  his  arm. 
Her  piteous  eyes  are  raised  to  his  face. 

"Waldemar,"  she  whispers,  hoarsely,  "you  must 
take  me  home  at  once,  dear.  I  was  just  going  to  send 
for  you." 

He  shook  off  the  clinging  hands  angrily  enough. 

"What!  go  home  when  the  ball  has  but  just  com- 
menced? I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  he  an- 
swered, turning  his  flushed  face  impatiently  from  the 
imploring  white  one. 

Ah,  why  was  she  unwise  enough  to  tell  him  the  true 
reason  why  she  wished  to  go,  and  plead  with  him  with 
tears  and  prayers. 

"Upon  my  word,  this  is  like  a  scene  from  a  French 
drama,"  he  sneered.  He  taunted  her,  and  laughed  at 
her,  telling  her  that  he  intended  to  stay  until  the  very 


A  2T0BLE  FOE. 


121 


last  one;  and  as  for  indulging  in  wine,  lie  had  not 
taken  the  half  of  what  he  intended  to;  that  he  knew 
his  own  business,  and  would  brook  no  interference 
from  her. 

She  redoubled  her  piteous  entreaties,  raising  her 
white  face  to  his.  She  angered  him  beyond  all  meas- 
ure. He  raised  his  hand  and  struck  her,  leaving  a 
red  mark  on  the  white  cheek — struck  the  face  the 
old  general  worshipped  so  fondly — the  lovely  face  that 
Bernard  Chesleigh  loved  so  well. 

She  had  drawn  him  forcibly  back  into  the  cloak 
room.  The  music  drowned  his  angry  voice.  The  gay 
dancers  had  not  seen  the  tragedy  enacted  so  near  them. 
No  one  saw  but  Bernard  Chesleigh,  who  had  stood 
near,  almost  fearing  to  leave  her. 

Before  Bernard  Chesleigh  could  reach  her  side  Wal- 
demar  Waldron  had  fled — not  into  the  ball-room  again, 
but  out  of  the  house,  into  the  street.  He  scarcely 
realized  in  his  hot  anger  that  he  had  raised  his  hand 
against  her. 

Eeine  did  not  faint — did  not  cry  out;  she  stood  in 
the  exact  spot  Waldemar  had  left  her,  looking  like  a 
statue  carved  in  marble — all  save  the  faint  crimson 
mark  on  the  pale  cheek. 

As  Bernard  Chesleigh  reached  her  side,  her  pride, 
her  reserve,  her  grand  courage,  all  gave  way.  She 
was  humbled,  humiliated  to  the  very  dust. 

She  laid  her  face  on  her  hands  with  a  low,  wailing 
cry  that  seemed  to  freeze  the  blood  in  his  veins  as  he 
listened. 

She  crept  up  to  him  as  she  had  been  wont  to  do  in 
that  dim  past.  She  had  always  found  him  her  cham- 
pion— her  true,  noble  friend.    He  was  her  friend  still. 

"Bernard!"  she  sobbed,  "what  shall  I  do?  I  am 
so  miserable  that  I  wish  I  were  dead.  Take  me  away, 
Bernard!  Take  me  home,  quick.  He  has  gone.  He 
will  not  return  for  me.  An  hour  hence  he  will  have 
forgotten  me,  and  that  I  am  waiting  here.  Take  me 
home,  Bernard."  a 

He  saw  that  she  was  in  a  state  of  wildest  alarm. 
Gravely  he  led  her  through  the  brilliant  rooms  out 
into  the  cold,  starlit  night.    Their  carriage  had  been 


122 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


ordered,  and  was  awaiting  them.  He  must  see  her 
safely  home.  So,  when  he  placed  her  within  the 
coach,  he  seated  himself  opposite  her. 

What  a  blessing  his  love  was  to  her  in  this  hour  of 
need;  what  a  haven  of  rest  this  unswerving  friendship 
seemed. 

Even  in  that  moment,  words  that  her  husband  was 
fond  of  singing  because  he  found  out  they  annoyed 
her,  came  back  to  Eeine. 

Let  not  woman  e'er  complain 

Of  inconstancy  in  love ; 
Let  not  woman  e'er  complain 

Fickle  man  is  apt  to  rove : 
Look  abroad  through  nature's  range, 
Nature's  mighty  law  is  change; 
Ladies,  would  it  not  be  strange, 

Man  should  then  a  monster  prove? 

Mark  the  winds,  and  mark  the  skies; 

Ocean's  ebb,  and  ocean's  flow: 
Sun  and  moon  but  set  to  rise, 

Kound  and  round  the  seasons  go: 
Why  then  ask  of  silly  man 
To  oppose  great  Nature's  plan? 
We'll  be  constant  while  we  can — 

You  can  be  no  more,  you  know. 

Here  was  a  man  who  was  constant  to  friendship, 
even  as  the  needle  to  the  pole.  What  a  firm  rock  for  a 
woman  to  cling  to,  when  the  waves  of  adversity  tossed 
her  about  life's  ocean! 

How  true  and  noble  a  friend  he  proved  himself! 
Some  men  might  have  taken  advantage  of  her  pique 
and  annoyance  to  have  ingratiated  themselves  into  her 
good  graces  by  denouncing  Waldemar  Waldron  and 
traducing  him.  Not  so  Bernard  Chesleigh.  He  was 
so  careful  of  her,  he  might  have  been  a  guardian  angel 
shielding  her  from  harm — this  beautiful  girl  whom  he 
would  have  given  his  very  life  blood  to  have  seen  smil- 
ing and  happy — like  the  capricious,  wilful,  little 
beauty  of  old.  * 

He  left  her  at  her  own  door.  She  held  out  her  hand 
to  him  with  a  faint  smile. 

"  You  have  forgiven  me,  and  you  are  my  true  friend 


A  NOBLE  FOE. 


123 


still,"  she  said,  wistfully.  "  If  we  never  meet  again,  I 
shall  always  remember  how  kind  you  have  been  to  me 
to-night." 

She  turned  away  abruptly.  The  door  opened  and 
closed  again  hurriedly,  and  he  was  alone  again  with 
the  starlit  night — alone  with  these  words  sounding  like 
sweetest  music  in  his  ears: 

"  You  are  my  true  and  noble  friend  still." 

Ah,  Heaven,  if  he  had  but  had  the  right  to  protect 
her — to  revenge  that  cowardly  blow.  He  longed,  with 
all  the  mighty  passion  in  his  soul,  to  smite  the  hand 
that  had  been  raised  against  the  only  being  whom  he 
had  ever  loved. 

As  for  Eeine,  she  walked  slowly  and  hesitatingly  up 
the  broad  staircase  and  on  to  her  boudoir.  No  tears 
blinded  her  blue  eyes.  No  quivering  sob  broke  the 
straight  tension  of  those  white  compressed  lips.  Noth- 
ing could  ever  pain  her  after  what  she  nad  suffered  to- 
night. She  had  reached  the  climax  of  human  woe  and 
human  endurance. 

Her  maid  cried  out  in  alarm  when  she  opened  the 
door  for  her,  and  saw  her  standing  there  so  pale  and 
death-like  on  the  threshold,  with  that  crimson  stain 
on  her  white  face. 

Why  was  she  home  so  early  from  the  grand  ball? 
What  had  happened  ? 

"I  shall  not  need  you  to-night,  Honora,"  she  said, 
wearily,  throwing  off  the  heavy  white  velvet  cloak. 
"  You  can  go  to  your  room." 

In  vain  the  maid  protested  that  she  looked  ill; 
that  she  was  sure  she  needed  her.  Reine  shook  her 
head. 

"111!"  sobbed  Eeine,  when  she  found  herself  alone. 
What  was  all  the  illness  in  the  world  compared  to 
what  she  was  suffering  then? 

She  went  to  the  window,  and  drawing  aside  the 
heavy  silken  drapery,  raised  her  white  arms  to  the 
star-gemmed  night  sky. 

"  Mother!  Mother!  "  she  wailed,  with  gasping  sobs. 
"  If  you  are  looking  down  upon  me  from  yonder  clouds 
— if  you  can  see  and  know  all  that  has  happened  to 


124 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


your  most  unfortunate  child — oh,  gentle  mother,  you 
will  plead  hard  with  the  angels  to  pardon  me  for  what 
I  am  about  to  do  to-night.  I  am  driven  to  it.  Yes, 
driven  to  it." 


CHAPTER  XX. 


"I  AM  GOES' G-  WHERE  XO  OXE  WHO    EVER    KNEW  ME 
CAX  SEE  MY  FACE  AGALS"." 

Theee  was  a  brief  but  terrible  straggle  in  the  heart 
of  beautiful,  hapless  Reine,  as  she  stood  by  the  window, 
with  her  white  face  mutely  raised  to  the  night  sky. 

The  golden  stars  had  died  out  long  since.  Dark 
clouds,  presaging  the  coming  storm,  obscured  the  face 
of  the  heavens,  and  ere  long  a  blinding  snow-storm  set 
in. 

The  snow  outside  was  not  more  cold  than  the  girl's 
heart. 

"  I  cannot  endure  it  longer,"  she  told  herself,  bit- 
terly. "  When  Waldemar  returns  he  shall  not  find 
me  here.    He  has  driven  me  to  it." 

She  turned  hurriedly  to  her  wardrobe.  By  chance, 
Honora's  long,  dark  cloak  hung  there.  She  donned  it 
mechanically,  tied  a  dark  vail  over  her  face,  then, 
with  cautious,  quiet  steps,  she  went  down  the  stairs, 
and  out  of  the  hall  door  into  the  terrible  storm  of  the 
night. 

No  one  heard  the  door  open.  Xo  one  heard  it  close 
again. 

Like  one  mad,  Reine  fled  through  the  darkness  and 
the  storm,  little  heeding  whither  she  went. 

So  delicately  nurtured,  so  tenderly  reared  had  the 
general's  darling  been,  that  the  bitter  cold  soon  told 
upon  her. 

She  looked  at  the  white,  falling  snow,  stretching 
like  a  shroud  over  the  deserted  streets  and  the  house- 
tops.   Would  it  be  her  winding  sheet  ? 

She  struggled  on  through  the  drifts  with  but  one 
thought  in  her  mind:  To  get  so  far  away  from  Wal- 
demar Waldron  that  he  could  never  find  her. 

125 


126 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


Was  it  fate  that  at  that  moment  brought  her  face 
to  face  with — Bernard  Chesleigh? 

For  an  instant  he  gazed  with  puzzled  bewilderment 
at  the  young  girl  approaching  him.  The  light  of  the 
flaring  gas  lamp  fell  upon  the  slender  figure.  The 
eyes  of  love  were  so  keen  that  he  knew  her  at  once. 

"  Reine/'  he  cried,  springing  forward,  "  what  in  the 
world  can  you  be  doing  alone,  and  in  such  a  storm, 
upon  the  streets  at  night  ?" 

A  piteous  sob  fell  from  the  girl's  lips,  ending  in  a 
hysterical  laugh. 

"  I  am  running  away,  Bernard,''*  she  said.  "I  am 
leaving  the  old  life  far  behind  me.  I  am  going  where 
no  one  who  ever  knew  me  can  see  my  face  again."' 

He  drew  back  with  a  pained,  grave  face. 

They  were  opposite  a  fashionable  cafe.  Gently  he 
drew  her  within,  out  of  the  bitter  cold  and  the  fierce 
storm. 

"Oh,  Heine,  Reine/"  he  cried,  distressedly,  seating 
her  upon  one  of  the  velvet  divans,  and  taking  a  seat 
opposite  her,  "  tell  me  what  it  is  that  has  led  you  to 
such  a  course  as  this? 

She  laughed;  and  the  mirthless  music  was  sadder  to 
hear  than  the  most  violent  weeping  would  have  been. 

"  It  is  simply  this/"  cried  Reine.  "When  I  reached 
home,  I  tried  to  school  myself  to  meet  him  again,  after 
what  happened  at  the  ball.  Oh,  the  torture  of  the 
hour  I  passed!  I  was  so  maddened  with  pain,  humil- 
iation, and  rage,  that  if  he  had  entered  the  room  then, 
I  could  not  have  been  accountable  for  what  I  would 
have  said,  even  though  he  were  to  strike  me  dead  for 
it.  I  hate  him  so  that  I  can  never  look  upon  his  face 
again/'  she  sobbed,  with  reckless  despair.  "  I  would 
sooner  die.*' 

Bernard  Chesleigh  gazed  at  her  with  infinite  pity 
in  his  dark  eyes,  a  troubled  look  on  his  grave  face. 

"Reine,  poor  child,  is  it  so  bad  as  this? "  he  asked, 
huskily. 

"It  is  so  bad/"  she  said,  "that  it  could  not  be 
worse;  to  meet  death  would  be  preferable.  I  am  tired 
of  it.    I  am  going  away/" 

"Going  away!""  he  repeated,  slowly.     "That  is 


HEINE'S  PLIGHT. 


12? 


what  I  feared  would  happen.  Has  your  patience,  your 
forbearance,  come  to  an  end  at  last,  Reine?"  he  said, 
compassionately. 

"  Yes,  she  replied,  truthfully,  "it  has  at  last." 

He  was  silent  a  few  moments;  and  then,  as  she 
looked  up  at  him,  a  great  awe  stole  over  her.  His 
eyes  were  upraised  ;  his  lips  were  moving  silently. 
What  should  he  clo?    What  should  he  say  to  her? 

Only  Heaven  knew  the  struggle  that  was  in  his 
heart,  and  how  he  conquered  it.  Loving  her  with  all 
the  great  love  of  his  heart,  how  easy  it  would  have 
been  to  rejoice  and  encourage  her  in  the  step  she  was 
taking.  There  was  something  more  than  heroic — it 
was  sublime — the  way  he  beat  back  his  mighty  love, 
that  he  might  counsel  her  aright. 

She  was  another  man's  wife.  He  prayed  to  Heaven 
for  strength  to  guide  her  as  he  would  wish  a  sister  of 
his  guided,  if  she  were  to  be  placed  in  just  such  cir- 
cumstances. 

"  My  marriage  was  a  terrible  mistake,"  she  sobbed, 
raising  her  beautiful,  childish  face  to  his.  "I  see  it 
now; "  and,  almost  unconsciously,  the  words  that  had 
so  often  trembled  upon  her  lips  burst  heedlessly  from 
them  now:  "Oh,  Bernard,  I  am  sorry  that  I  gave  you 
up  for  him;  you  would  have  taken  me  for  love.  He 
only  wanted  me  because  I  was  the  prospective  heiress 
of  Fairlawn." 

Ah,  how  he  longed  to  take  her  in  his  strong  arms, 
put  the  golden,  clustering  curls  from  her  white  face, 
and  weep  over  her.  He  crushed  the  mad  impulse — 
spurned  the  thought  from  him. 

Bernard  had  a  code  of  honor,  all  his  own  perhaps — 
a  rare  one  in  these  degenerate  days.  He  had  loved 
her  dearly,  Heaven  knew;  he  loved  her  now;  but  it 
would  unman  him  to  listen  to  words  like  these  from 
her  innocent,  thoughtless  lips,  for  there  is  no  storm 
so  strong,  so  irresistible,  as  that  of  human  passion;  yet 
Bernard  stood  firm. 

"You  must  never  dwell  upon  useless  regrets, 
Reine,"  he  said,  gravely.  "  Remember  you  are  wedded 
to  another  now,  and  marriage  is  for  life/' 

I  wonder  how  many  men  of  the  nineteenth  century 


128 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARKIAGE. 


there  are  who  would  give  up  everything  that  is  dear  in 
life  for  the  sake  of  maintaining  a  high,  ideal  purity! 

"  When  the  chain  galls  it  should  be  broken  asunder," 
she  said  piteously;  "  I  could  not  endure  it  until  death 
sets  one  or  the  other  free,"  Eeine  added.  . 

"  Do  not  urge  me  to  go  back,  Bernard,"  she  sobbed; 
the  life  I  have  been  leading  would  soon  kill  me;  oh, 
the  wretched  loneliness  of  it!  Here  are  some  lines  I 
read  the  other  day  and  wept  over;  they  almost  seemed 
to  have  been  written  for  me.  I  cannot  repeat  them 
just  as  they  were  written.  I  think  I  scarcely  read 
them  aright  through  my  tears: 

"No  one  to  love, — none  to  caress, 
I'm  living  alone  in  this  wide  wilderness; 
Sad  is  my  fate,  joy  is  unknown, 
For  in  my  sad  sorrow, — I'm  weeping  alone. 
Oh  this  world  is  a  wide  world  of  sorrow; 
Can  e'en  those  who  smile  efface  the  sad  tear 
With  no  one  to  welcome  the  light  #f  to-morrow, 
With  no  one  to  share  it  when  sunshine  is  here?  " 

"  Oh,  Bernard,  that  is  so  like  my  dreary  life;  I  live 
such  a  lonely  existence, — no  one  to  love,  and  no  one  to 
love  me.  There  are  times  when  I  long  for  the  clasp  of 
strong  hands,  for  sympathy,  and — and — to  feel  the 
assurance  that  some  one  cares  for  me.  Can  you  under- 
stand?" 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  huskily. 

"  To  creep  into  the  fold  of  strong  arms,  and  pillow 
my  head  on  a  faithful  breast,"  she  went  on,  piteously. 

"  Poor  child!  poor  little  Heine,"  he  murmured,  bro- 
kenly. 

"I  cannot  endure  the  thought  of  what  the  future 
would  be  with  him;  I  have  thought  it  all  over,  I 
would  rather  face  death — for  that  would  be  nothing 
to  the  cruel  torture  of  dragging  out  day  after  day, 
weeks,  and  the  months  that  lengthen  into  years. 
With  him,  love  died  with  possession.  The  thought 
of  our  growing  old  together  is  full  of  nameless  horror 
to  me;  we  should  detest  each  other  more  thoroughly 
— if  that  be  possible — as  time  rolls  on,  than  we  do 
now," 


keike's  flight. 


129 


"  Oh,  Bernard/'  and  she  crept  nearer  to  him/'  "tell 
me  where  to  go?  I  want  to  go  so  far  away  that  he  can 
never  trace  me; "  and  hiding  her  face  in  her  hands  she 
gave  way  to  hysterical  weeping. 

"  Will  yon  let  me  advise  yon  as  to  what  your  duty  is, 
Reine,"  he  said,  very  gently,  "  and  follow  it?" 

In  uttering  the  last  sentence,  Chesleigh  uncon- 
sciously took  up  his  hat,  which  he  had  laid  on  a  chair 
beside  him;  Reiiie,  sensitive  as  to  his  slightest  move- 
ment, took  it  as  an  intimation  that  he  was  wishing  the 
interview  over,  and  was  anxious  to  leave  her. 

She  Rooked  wistfully  into  his  face,  with  a  deep  sigh. 
"  I  will  listen  to  what  you  tell  me,  but  I  cannot  prom- 
ise to  follow  it,"  she  said. 

"  With  all  his  faults,  you  love  him  still,  Reine,"  said 
Chesleigh,  very  gravely,  and  because  of  that  love  you 
must — " 

She  interrupted  him  with  a  dreary  laugh. 

"I  have  never  loved  him,  Bernard,"  she  sobbed.  I 
see  now  that  it  was  only  a  girlish,  mad  infatuation  that 
I  had  for  a  pair  of  fine  eyes  and  a  curling  blond  mous- 
tache. I  do  not  wish  to  speak  evil  of  him,  Bernard," 
she  said,  slowly;  the  very  fact  that  he  has  injured  me 
should  make  me  generous  to  him;  the  very  fact  that  I 
dislike  him  should  make  me  speak  well  of  him.  Do  not 
blame  me  for  abhorring  him,": she  pleaded.  How  could 
anyone  help  despising  and  disliking  a  man  who  has 
not  since  marriage  shown  me  the  ordinary  civility  that 
a  gentleman  never  fails  to  show  to  a  lady?  1  have  been 
cruelly  victimized.  There  is  but  one  course  open  to 
me — to  go  away." 

"  There  are  tivo  ways  before  you,  Reine,"  said  Ches- 
leigh, pityingly.  {i  That  of  flying  from  your  fate — or — 
making  the  b$st  of  it;  running  away  from  your  trouble 
would  be  a  commonplace  ending.  1  see  how  you  may 
make  of  yourself  a  heroine,  Reine,  and  unless  I  am 
greatly  mistaken  in  the  estimate  of  your  character,  you 
will  do  it. 

He  took  her  little,  trembling  hands  in  his  own 
brave,  strong  ones,  pleading  with  her  gently  and  ten- 
derly to  go  back  again  to  the  home  from  which  she 

9 


130 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


had  just  fled,  to  try  just  a  little  while  longer  to  live  in 
peace  and  unison  with  the  husband  she  had  wedded. 

He  pictured  to  her  in  glowing  words  how  heroic 
such  a  line  of  action  would  be.  She  had  a  great  mis- 
sion to  perform,  reclaiming  Waldemar  Waldron  from 
the  slough  of  dissipation  into  which  he  had  drifted, 
instead  of  fleeing  from  him  and  leaving  him  to  his 
fate. 

Keine  looked  at  Bernard  in  sheer  wonder. 
He  met  the  glance  calmly. 

' '  Let  my  entreaties  win  you  from  the  path  you  have 
marked  out  for  you,  Reine,"  he  said.  "  It  is  a  delicate 
matter  at  any  time  to  interfere  between  man  and  wife. 
It  is  only  because  I  take  so  true  an  interest  in  you  that 
I  dare  speak  at  all. 

"  Ah,  Reine,  you  have  your  fate  in  your  own  hands. 
Go  back  to  your  husband  and  plead  with  him  to  com- 
mence life  anew  with  you.  Tell  him  that  you,  on  your 
part,  will  do  all  you  can;  that  you  are  willing  to 
make  any  effort  to  bring  about  a  pleasanter  state  of 
things." 

"It  would  be  quite  useless,  Bernard,"  she  said, 
hopelessly.  "  Snow  and  sun,  water  and  fire,  will  agree 
together  better  than  he  and  I  ever  can." 

e.t  promise  me  that  you  will  try  it,  Reine,"  he  urged. 
"It  is  worth  the.  effort;  it  is,  indeed.  And  if  it  fails, 
you  will  at  least  have  done  your  best." 

"He  will  only  say  something  very  unkind,  perhaps 
insulting,  to  me,  Bernard,"  she  exclaimed,  bitterly. 

"  Then  you  must  summon  all  your  patience  to  your 
aid,  Reine,"  he  said,  gently.  "  You  may  have  many 
sore  humiliations,  many  hours  of  pitiful  annoyance, 
many  a  contest  with  your  own  pride,  but  you  will  win 
in  the  end."  m 

She  clasped  her  hands,  and  looked  at  him  with  pit- 
eous entreaty. 

"  You  forget,  Bernard,  that  my  husband  does  not 
love  me,"  she  said.  "He  would  only  sneer  and  laugh 
at  me.    Kindness  would  be  thrown  away  upon  him." 

"  You  can  but  try,"  urged  her  companion,  gently. 

He  saw  that  she  was  listening  to  him  with  a 
thoughtful  face,  and  his  natural  eloquence  rose  to 


REIlrfS  FLIGHT. 


131 


the  occasion.  He  pleaded  with  her,  used  his  strong- 
est arguments,  and  in  the  end  he  succeeded  in  winning 
the  promise  from  her  that  she  would  try  again — the 
life  she  had  been  so  eager  to  cast  off. 

"  We  shall  meet  often  in  society,  Reine,"  he  said, 
"  and  I  shall  watch  eagerly  for  the  signs  and  tokens 
that  shall  tell  me  you  and  your  husband  are  once  more 
happy." 

A  faint  smile  parted  her  lips.  She  caught  his  hand 
and  kissed  it. 

The  caressing  touch  of  those  innocent,  velvet  lips 
made  the  blood  leap  like  wine  through  his  veins.  But 
not  a  muscle  of  his  face  betrayed  his  agitation. 

For  the  second  time  that  night  he  called  a  cab,  and 
placing  Seine  in  it,  saw  her  safely  to  her  home;  leav- 
ing her  with  an  earnest,  cheery  "good  night." 

Bernard  Chesleigh  was  a  strong  man,  strong  in  his 
noble  principles  of  honor,  strong  in  his  own' integrity; 
but  as  he  rode  homeward  to  his  hotel  alone  that  night, 
hot  tears  forced  themselves  to  his  eyes. 

His  life  was  ruined,  wrecked,  and  a  sigh  broke  from 
his  bearded  lips  as  a  thought  of  '"'what  might  have 
been  in  the  dim  future"  occurred  to  Kim — if  he  had 
allowed  Reine  to  follow  her  own  course. 

He  had  been  a  noble  foe  to  "Waldemar  Waldron. 
Xot  one  man  in  ten  thousand  could  have  so  heroically 
resisted  the  temptation  to  encourage  her  to  follow  the 
bent  of  her  own  will,  which  would  have  torn  down  the 
barrier  between  them. 

She  would  not  know  it  now.  But  in  the  long  years 
to  come  there  might  come  a  day  when  she  would  realize 
how  true  and  steadfast  the  love  had  proven  which  she 
had  once  flung  so  lightly  away. 

He  could  never  forget  her;  for  that  love  which  was 
buried  deep  in  his  soul  was  a  part  of  his  life. 

If  she  should  ever  need  the  help  of  a  strong  arm,  his 
should  be  at  her  disposal.  He  would  have  given  every 
drop  of  blood  in  his  heart  to  have  served  her.  He 
would  watch  over  her  from  afar.  He  would  give  his 
very  life  for  her,  if -need  be.  His  was  a  noble,  exalted 
love,  which  would  always  prove  true. 


132 


A  FORBIDDEN"  MARRIAGE. 


How  many  men  in  his  place,  loving  her  as  he  did, 
could  have  beat  back  from  his  lips  the  reckless,  passion- 
ate whisper: — "  Come  with  me,  dear;  fly  from  him  you 
hate,  to  the  arms  of  love;  the  world  would  be  well  lost 
for  both  of  us — for  love's  sake." 


CHAPTER  XXI. 


i  YOU  DID  NOT  WED  A    SAINT   WHEN    YOU  MARRIED 


Softly  as  a  shadow  Reine  crept  back  to  the  lonely 
boudoir  she  had  so  lately  quitted.  ]^o  one  had  missed 
her,  although  she  had  been  gone  an  hour  or  more. 

It  was  drawing  close  on  to  midnight  now.  Walde- 
mar  might  come  in  at  any  moment.  He  must  not  find 
her  with  her  wraps  on. 

She  laid  them  wearily  aside,  praying  to  Heaven  that 
she  would  have  strength  to  follow  closely  the  pro- 
gramme Bernard  had  laid  out  for  her. 

Poor  Bernard!  What  a  true  and  noble  friend  he 
had  proven  himself!  How  his  handsome  face  had 
glowed  with  enthusiasm  as  he  had  pleaded  with  her  to 
turn  back!  How  strange  it  was  that  she  had  not  no- 
ticed this  grandeur  of  soul,  this  nobility  of  spirit,  be- 
fore! This  man  had  stooped  from  his  high  pedestal 
to  love  her,  and  she  had  tossed  that  love  from  her  as 
carelessly  as  a  child  tosses  away  a  broken  toy! 

Now,  when  it  was  too  late,  she  realized  what  she  had 
lost.  Ah,  yes!  the  past  was  all  over  between  them. 
There  was  no  time  for  regrets  or  tears  now  over  "what 
might  have  been." 

"  Glitters  the  dew  and  shines  the  river; 
Sparkles  the  tear  in  the  lily's  bell; 
But  the  two  are  walking  apart  forever, 
And  wave  their  hands  in  a  mute  farewell  ! " 

Reine  had  not  thrown  off  her  wrappings  a  moment 
too  soon,  for  a  heavy  step  sounded  on  the  stairs,  and 
the  next  moment  Waldemar  Waldron  entered  the  room. 

It  was  a  great  trial  to  keep  back  the  bitter  words 
that  sprang  to  her  lips,  or  vail  the  scorn  that  flashed 
into  her  eyes^  but  by  a  great  effort  Reine  did  it. 

133 


134 


A  FORBIEDEX  MARRIAGE. 


She  looked  up  at  him,  and  was  surprised  to  find  that 
the  effects  of  the  wine  which  he  had  indulged  in  at  the 
ball  had  well  nigh  worn  away.  How  could  she  speak 
kindly  to  him  when  they  had  parted  in  such  a  bitter 
quarrel  a  few  short  hours  before? 

He  was  the  first  to  break  the  awkward  silence. 

"  How  does  it  happen  that  you  are  up  waiting  for 
me?"  he  asked,  brusquely,  looking  at  her  with  keen 
curiosity. 

The  girl's  face  flushed.  Hot,  bitter  rebellion  rose  in 
her  heart.  She  stilled  the  anger  and  contempt.  Her 
victory  over  herself  was  so  great  that  she  was  surprised 
at  it.. 

She  rose  from  her  chair,  her  hands  trembling  ner- 
vously, her  lovely,  child-like  face  flushing  and  paling 
by  turns. 

"  I  have  waited  for  you,  Waldemar,  because  I  have 
something  to  say  to  you,"  she  said,  very  gently. 
He  looked  at  hor  steadily. 

"  You  want  to  renew  that  scene  that  occurred  in  the 
Dall-room,"  he  said,  harshly;  "but  if  you  are  wise  you 
will  let  matters  drop.  You  provoked  me  into  doing 
what  I  did." 

"Are  you  sorry  for  it  now?"  she  asked,  wistfully. 

"Yes,"  he  confessed,  a  dull  red  flaming  into  his 
face.  "  But  I  repeat,  you  provoked  me  to  it,  Keine, 
and  you  know  it." 

She  went  up  to  him,  laying  her  little  white  hand  on 
his  arm. 

"  We  have  not  been  very  happy — have  we,  Walde- 
mar? We  have  quarrelled  and  disputed  until  I  am 
ashamed  to  think  of  it,"  she  said. 

He  looked  at  her  in  amazement.  She  would  not  see 
the  surprise  on  his  face  or  make  the  least  difference 
because  of  it. 

"Most  decidedly,  Eeine,  we  have  done  our  best  in 
that  line,"  he  admitted.  "  We  have  not  kept  the 
peace." 

"I  should  like  so  much  to  change  all  that,  Walde- 
mar," she  said,  in  a  low  voice;  "to  try  if  we  cannot 
begin  again  and  really  do  better.  I  will  try,  if  you 
will,  Waldemar." 


YOU  DID  NOT  WED  A  SAINT. 


135 


He  looked  at  her  with  a  contemptuous  laugh. 

''Have  you  been  to  a  revival  meeting?"  he  asked. 

Reine's  face  flushed,  and  hot  words  of  anger  came  to 
her  lips;  but  she  controlled  herself.  She  would  not 
utter  them. 

"No,  I  have  not,"  she  replied;  "but  I  have  been 
thinking,  Waldemar,  and  would  give  anything  on  earth 
if  we  could  do  a  little  better — agree  a  little  better. 
Now,  for  instance,  if  you  will  promise  not  to  speak 
angrily  or  contemptuously  to  me,  I  will  make  the 
same  promise  to  you." 

"  I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  he  answered, 
haughtily,  a  sudden  fire  leaping  into  his  indolent, 
handsome  face.  "I  tell  you  what,  my  lady  Reine," 
he  replied,  roughly — "  I  do  not  like  this  sudden  fit  of 
humility.  '  Still  waters  run  deep/  It  betokens  no 
good.  You  have  some  deep  design  in  your  head,  and 
I  know  it." 

"  You  are  wrong,"  she  replied.  "I  want  simply 
to  be  on  better  terms  with  you,  so  that  we  may  have 
some  chance  of  happiness.  I  want  no  more.  We 
are  husband  and  wife  now;  we  must  spend  our  lives 
together.  Let  us  make  the  best  of  each  other,  Walde- 
mar." 

She  spoke  quickly,  with  an  appealing  face,  her  little 
trembling  hands  clutched  nervously  together.  He 
answered  her  almost  ferociously. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  making  the  best  of  each 
other?"  he  cried.  "Do  you  mean  that  I  am  not  good 
enough  for  you  ?  " 

"I  do  not  know,"  she  replied,  hopelessly,  a  dull 
feeling  of  despair  coming  over  her. 

"  Then  you  ought  to  know,"  he  retorted.  "If  you 
wanted  to  marry  a  saint  you  should  not  have  thrown 
Chesleigh  over." 

She  raised  her  clear  blue  eyes  to  his  face,  and  he 
read  something  in  them  that  puzzled  him. 

"  Remember  that  I  gave  up  everything  in  the  world 
for  your  sake,  Waldemar,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice; 
"  and  in  memory  of  that  I  would  like  you  to  be  more 
kind  to  me.  My  heart  is  breaking  for  want  of  sym- 
pathy and — and — love." 


136 


A  FOKBIDDEK  MARRIAGE. 


"  Such  utter  nonsense! — such  rubbish!  Who  has 
been  putting  such  romantic  notions  into  your  head?  " 
he  asked,  sharply.  "I  am  tired  and  sick  of  hearing 
over  and  over  again  what  you  have  given  up  for  my 
sake;  let  me  hear  no  more  of  it.  Never  talk  to  me  in 
this  strain  again.  I  shall  never  be  any  woman's  slave; 
but  I  will  compel  my  wife  to  listen  to  me.  and  not 
attempt  to  dictate  to  me.  If  you  are  not  happy  it  is 
your  own  fault — your  own  temper  and  your  own 
pride." 

"Perhaps  so,"  she  said,  listlessly.  "You  may  rest 
quite  assured  of  one  thing — that  while  I  live  I  shall 
never  broach  this  subject  again  to  you.  If,  in  time  to 
come,  I  want  a  friend,  I  shall  not  come  to  you.  If  I 
want  advice,  consolation,  sympathy,  kindness,  I  shall 
never  ask  it  from  you." 

"  So  much  the  better,"  he  answered,  leaning  indo- 
lently back  in  his  favorite  arm-chair.  "  If  there  is 
anything  I  abhor,  it  is  a  crying,  fault-finding  woman. 
At  such  times  I  can  realize  what  i  Ik.  Marvel '  meant 
when  he  said:  '  I  long  to  break  away,  and  find  what 
liveliness  can  be  found  elsewhere." 

Eeine  turned  away  from  him  proudly.  It  had  been  a 
terrible  mistake,  trying  to  make  friendly  overtures  to 
him.  She  saw  plainly  they  could  never  live  as  other 
husbands  and  wives  did.  It  was  but  the  common  fate 
of  the  many  who  resort  to  runaway  marriages.  They 
never  turn  out  happily.  Ah!  would  that  young  girls 
would  take  warning! 

Heine's  was  the  most  unhappy  of  all  unhappy  mar- 
riages. 

It  was  Waldemar  Waldron's  own  fault  that  his  lovely 
girl-wife's  idolatrous  love  for  himself  died  away,  giving 
place  to  hopeless  despair,  which  grew  from  bad  to 
worse — into  positive  dislike. 

A  week  passed.  Although  Reine  did  her  best,  her 
heroic  effort  to  live  on  better  terms  with  Waldemar 
Waldron  had  met  with  rebuffs  and  ignominious  fail- 
ure. 

One  afternoon  she  had  asked  him  to  take  her  the 
following  day  to  drive  through  Central  Park,  and  for 
a  wonder  he  consented:  but  when  the  hour  rolled 


"YOU  DID  NOT  WED  A  SAINT." 


137 


around — the  sleigh  stood  at  the  door — her  husband 
had  quite  forgotten  his  appointment  with  her,  and  the 
consequence  was  that  she  rode  alone. 

At  the  park  entrance  she  saw  Bernard  Chesleigh, 
who  was  just  alighting  from  a  cab.  She  beckoned  him 
eagerly  to  her  side,  making  room  for  him  on  the  cush- 
ioned seat;  but,  though  it  would  have  been  a  keen 
delight  to  him  to  have  sat  by  her  side,  looked  into  her 
eyes,  heard  her  voice  for  a  brief  half  hour,  he  gravely 
declined,  urging,  as  a  reason,  a  pressing  business  en- 
gagement. 

"  You  will  be  at  the  art  gallery  this  afternoon,  Ber- 
nard?" she  questioned,  earnestly. 

He  said  "  yes,"  regretting  it,  however,  the  next 
moment.  He  must  not  throw  himself  so  constantly  in 
her  society;  he  must  rather  avoid  it,  for  it  was  like  the 
moth  hovering  about  the  flame  that  first  blinded  and 
then  burned  it.  He  turned  to  leave  her,  but  she  laid  a 
detaining  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  Would  you  like  to  hear  how  my  first  lesson  in  obe- 
dience went  on,  Bernard?"  she  asked. 

"  If  you  would  like  to  tell  me,"  he  replied. 

"  I  waited  up  for  him  until  he  came  in  that  night. 
I  crushed  my  bitter  anger  and  my  hot  rebellion,  and 
greeted  him  as  kindly  as  I  could.  I  went  up  to  him 
with  that  crimson  mark  still  on  my  face,  and  asked 
him  to  bury  all  past  unpleasantness  and  begin  life 
anew — to  try  and  make  each  other  happier  if  we  could. 
He  answered  me,  Bernard,  with  a  low,  contempt ui on s 
laugh  that  made  me — ah!  well,  never  mind  how  it 
made  me  feel.  He  laughed  at  me,  and  insulted  me, 
until  I  could  have  struck  him  down;  only  Heaven 
knows  how  I  kept  back  the  tears  from  my  eyes  astd  the 
sobs  from  my  lips.  It  wTas  an  utter  failure,  Bernard. 
I  told  you  how  it  would  be  before  I  humbled  my  pride 
before  him — to  be  scoffed  at  for  my  pains." 

"  Well?"  said  Bernard  Chesleigh,  pityingly. 

"Well,  I  would  rather  die,  than  humble  myself  to 
him  again — that  is  all,  Bernard.  It  is  a  terrible  mis- 
take to  think  that  the  embers  of  love  can  be  awakened 
in  a  heart  where  they  have  once  died  out.  To  imagine 
that  it  can  be  done,  reminds  me  of  the  pitiful  lines: 


138 


A  FORBIDDEX  MARRIAGE. 


"  '  Only,  oh  God,  to  cry  for  bread 

And  to  get  a  stone.    Daily  to  lay  my  head 
Upon  a  bosom  where  the  old  love's  dead. 
Heaven  pity  me — the  sweet  dream's  fled.'  " 

"  It  is  of  no  use,  Bernard,"  she  repeated  hopelessly. 
"  Waldemar  and  I  can  never  get  along  well  together.  He 
thinks  that — and  I  Jcnoio  it.  I  am  tired  of  hoping  for  a 
better  state  of  things.  No  woman  should  coax  her  hus- 
band for  the  love  that  should  be  hers.  I  am  too  proud 
to  do  it.  I  cannot  make  the  first  advances  even  though 
I  craved  it,  though  in  truth  I  do  not." 

He  knew  Seine's  nature — the  necessity  of  living  in 
the  atmosphere  of  affection,  and  his  heart  went  out  to 
her  in  a  great  throb  of  pity. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


AN  UNEXPECTED  ENCOUNTER. 

Bernard  Chesleigh  gazed  pityingly  at  the  beau- 
tiful face. 

"  Promise  me  that  you  will  not  be  discouraged  with 
this  first  attempt  to  win  your  husband  back  to  his  old 
allegiance,  Reine,"  he  said  earnestly,  "  even  though 
you  have  met  with  slight  encouragement  so  far. 
Great  victories  must  be  valiantly  fought  for,  you 
know." 

"  I  will  do  my  best,  but  it  will  be  a  very  poor 
'best/  I  fear/''  said  the  girl,  holding  out  her  hand  to 
him. 

He  bent  over  it  a  moment — that  little  white  hand 
that  should  have  been  his — then  released  it. 

The  next  instant  he  was  standing  by  the  Park  gate 
alone:  the  natty,  red-cushioned  sleigh,  with  its  occu- 
pant, had  vanished  from  sight,  hidden  by  an  abrupt 
curve  of  the  road. 

Poor  Reine!  so  fatally  fair,  her  beauty  had  been  a 
curse  to  her.    He  asked  himself  how  it  would  all  end. 

There  was  one  thing  that  was  quite  positive — he 
could  not,  he  must  not  see  Reine  again.  He  must 
leave  New  York  at  once.  Better  fly  from  danger  than 
court  it. 

Reine  rode  listlessly  enough  through  the  Park. 
Hundreds  of  gaily  caparisoned  equipages  dashed  past 
her,  and  more  than  one  cast  a  backward  glance  at 
Reine;  but  she  did  not  even  see  them,  so  intent  was 
she  upon  her  own  thoughts. 

Gay,  chattering  voices,  together  with  the  merry 
sound  of  sleigh-bells,  rang  out  on  the  crisp  air;  but, 
just  as  Reine  turned  her  horse  about,  she  was  startled 
by  the  sound  of  a  familiar  voice,  pealing  out  in  hila- 
rious laughter. 

139 


140 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


She  raised  her  eyes  with  a  sudden  start,  and  the 
sight  that  she  saw  made  the  hot  blood  course  like  lava 
through  her  veins,  her  heart  beat,  and  a  sudden  mist 
gather  before  her  eyes. 

In  a  sleigh  that  flashed  past  her  with  the  rapidity  of 
lightning,  she  had  beheld  Waldemar  Waldron.  He 
was  not  alone.  A  young  and  exquisitely  lovely  girl  sat 
beside  him — a  young  girl  with  a  laughing,  dimpled 
face,  a  crimson  mouth,  flushed  cheeks,  and  eyes  flash- 
ing like  stars. !- 

Even  in  that  meteoric  glimpse,  Eeiue  could  not  help 
but  notice  how  lovely  the  dark,  glowing  face  was;  and 
the  rapt  expression  that  rested  on  Waldemar's  as  he 
inclined  his  handsome  head  toward  her. 

Reine  drew  back,  pale  and  breathless.  Evidently 
neither  of  them  had  observed  her.  Reine  was  the  last 
person  that  Waldron  was  thinking  of  at  that  partic- 
ular moment. 

Reine  never  remembered  how  she  drove  home 
through  the  crowded  thoroughfares,  her  heart  was  in 
such  a  whirl  of  bitter  emotions.  She  had  been  home 
an  hour  or  more  when  Waldemar  came  to  luncheon. 

He  was  in  capital  good  humor,  singing  a  snatch  of 
the  latest  opera  as  he  entered.  Reine  went  up  to  him, 
timidly  placing  two  letters  in  his  hand  that  had 
arrived  for  him  in  the  morning  mail. 

"  I  had  a  long  and  weary  wait  for  you  this  forenoon, 
Waldemar,"  she  said.  "  Had  you  forgotten  that  you 
promised  to  take  me  out  sleighing?  " 

She  quite  believed  he  would  tell  her  frankly  just 
what  had  detained  him,  and  who  his  companion  was 
with  whom  she  had  seen  him  in  Central  Park. 

She  had  yet  to  learn  the  depth  of  falsity  in  Walde- 
mar Waldron's  nature.  He  gave  a  sudden  start  of  sur- 
prise.   His  fair,  indolent  face  flushed  hotly. 

He  had  forgotten  it  most  certainly;  but  it  would 
never  do  to  admit  it.  He  must  resort  to  a  subterfuge 
of  some  kind. 

"  You  had  a  long  wait,  did  you?  Well,  by  George, 
that  was  careless  of  me  to  forget  mentioning  to  you 
that  I  had  a  very  important  matter  to  attend  to  which 


AX  UNEXPECTED  EX  C  QUOTES. 


141 


would  prevent  me  from  accompanying  you.  I  had  to 
meet  a  man — " 

The  violent  fit  of  coughing  which  attacked  him  then 
seemed  a  just  retribution  for  the  prevarication  on  his 
lips. 

Reine  drew  back,  scorn  and  wounded  pride  flashing 
in  her  eyes,  her  white  lips  trembling. 

"  An  important  matter  to  attend  to!  99 

Her  face  flushed  with  bitter  anger  as  she  listened. 
Was  driving  a  lovely  girl  through  the  Park  such  an 
important  matter  that  he  should  forget  her  ? 

A  quick  retort  rose  to  her  lips,  but  ere  she  could 
give  it  utterance,  Waldemar  Waldron  sprang  from  his 
chair,  clutching  nervously  at  the  open  letter  he  held 
in  his  hand,  his  face  dark  with  passion,  then  turning 
fairly  livid. 

"  Affairs  are  reaching  a  crisis,"  he  muttered,  crush- 
ing the  letter  deep  down  into  his  pocket  with  some- 
thing very  like  a  groan. 

At  sight  of  his  distress  Eeine  forgot  her  pride  and 
her  terrible  anger.  In  a  moment  she  was  kneeling 
beside  him. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Waldemar?"  she  urged. 
"Have  you  bad  news?'' 

"Bad  news!  It  is  the  worst  possible  news,  Reine," 
he  cried,  desperately.  "  Every  one  is  pushing  me  for 
money,  and  unless  I  can  make  an  immediate  raise 
from  some  source  or  other,  we  are  completely  ruined." 

His  lovely  young  wife  looked  at  him.  She  had  not 
the  least  idea  what  complete  ruin  meant. 

He  went  on  excitedly.  "  I  can't  see  my  way  clear. 
We  shall  come  to  grief,  I'm  afraid,  and  that  speedily, 
too.  unless — unless — " 

He  moved  uneasily  in  his  chair,  his  eyes  drooping 
nervously  under  her  calm,  searching  gaze. 

"'Unless  what,  Waldemar?"  she  asked,  earnestly. 

"  Unless  you  can  manage  it  for  me,  Reine,"  he 
answered. 

She  looked  up  into  his  face. 

"I"  she  answered  in  dismay.  "Oh,  Waldemar,  tell 
me  how." 

He  had  the  grace  to  flush  hotly.    He  pondered  for  a 


142 


A  FORBIDDEN"  MARRIAGE. 


choice  of  words  in  which  to  frame  his  reply.  For  one 
moment  shame  mastered  him;  but  necessity  spurred 
him  on  to  desperate  measures.  You  could  help  me  if 
you  would  go  on  the  stage,  Eeine,"  he  declared. 
"That  face  and  form  of  yours  would  set  New  York 
wild.    You'd  get  a  handsome  salary. 

He  did  not  raise  his  eyes  to  look  at  her;  had  he  done 
so  he  would  have  been  startled;  he  went  on  ner- 
vously— "  And  there's  an  opening  for  you — which  I 
heard  of  by  chance,  that  would  turn  any  woman's 
head. 

"  It  was  all  by  chance  I  heard  about  it,"  he  went  on, 
emphatically;  Fll  tell  you  how  it  came  about.  As  I 
stepped  out  of  the  Stock  Exchange  to-day,  I  met  Man- 
ager  .    He  was  in  the  deuce  of  a  hurry,  and  all  in 

a  nutter.  He  is  just  about  bringing  out  a  grand 
revival  of  the  "  White  Fawn,"  and  at  the  last  moment, 
without  so  much  as  '  by  your  leave/  his  star  levanted 
— skipped  with  a  rival  concern. 

"  '  What  in  heaven's  name  I  am  to  do,  I  don't 
know/  he  declared.  'If  I  could  find  a  woman  with  a 
face  and  figure  like  Mdlle.  Bertantis, — she  might 
name  her  own  price  to  take  her  place.'  It's  a  chance 
that  comes  but  once  in  a  lifetime.  What  do  you 
think  of  the  idea,  Eeine?" 

She  had  sprung  to  her  feet,  shocked  and  literally 
astounded.  He  never  forgot  the  way  in  which  she 
drew  up  her  slight  form  to  its  utmost  height,  crying 
out  passionately — "Your  jest  is  in  very  bad  taste, 
Waldemar." 

"It  is  no  jest,"  he  declared,  frowning  darkly.  "I 
am  in  earnest.  When  people  are  pushed  as  hard  as 
we  are  for  money,  they  must  put  their  pride  in  their 
pocket.  Don't  let  a  little  nonsense  stand  between  me 
and  ruin.  You  must  help  me  out  of  this,  Eeine. 
Come,  *what  do  you  say  to  the  plan?" 

There  was  a  look  in  her  flashing  eyes  that  made  him 
wince. 

"  I  say  that  I  will  not  do  it,"  cried  the  girl,  in  clear, 
steady  tones.    "I — I — would  die  first." 

Her  answer  exasperated  him.  He  grasped  her  ten- 
der white  arms  in  his  strong  hold  so  fiercely  that  there 


AN  UNEXPECTED  ENCOUNTER,. 


143 


were  purple  bruises  upon  them  for  long  days  after- 
ward. Yet  she  did  not  even  wince  with  the  cruel  pain 
of  it. 

You  shall  promise  that  you  will  do  it,"  he  cried. 
"I  will  wring  it  from  your  lips.  Your  absurd  pride 
shall  not  ruin  me. 

"No,"  cried  the  girl,  heroically,  forcing  the  tears 
back  from  her  eyes — "I  will  not.  You  are  stronger 
than  I — you  may  kill  me — but  you  shall  never  make 
me  do  that  against  which  my  whole  nature  abhors.7' 

"Another  woman  in  your  place  would  be  delighted 
at  the  opportunity,"  he  retorted  sullenly.  "It  is  your 
duty  to  help  me  in  any  way  you  can." 

"Not  in  that  way." 

"In  any  way,"  he  responded  emphatically — "As 
long  as  I  approve  of  it." 

She  wondered  what  the  old  general  would  say  if  he 
had  but  heard.  How  shocked  too,  Bernard  Chesleigh 
would  have  been. 

"It's  poor  policy  playing  the  high  and  mighty  when 
one  hasn't  a  cent  in  their  pocket,"  he  sneered. 

"  I  would  rather  earn  my  bread  as  a  seamstress — a 
nurse — anything  " — cried  Reine. 

"  Don't  be  a  fool  and  stand  in  your  own  light," 
cried  Waldron  in  anger.  You  could  afford  to  be 
neither  a  seamstress  or  a  nurse;  leave  that  for  older 
and  homelier  women.  You  could  not  earn  at  one  or 
the  other  much  over  a  five-dollar  note  a  week.  Man- 
ager  would  give  you  two  hundred,  he  says." 

"Have  you  dared  talk  with  him  about  it,"  de- 
manded Eeine. 

"  I  have  not  only  talked  with  him,  but  arranged 
with  him,"  Waldron  cried.  "  You  shall  take  Bert  an  - 
tis'  place.  In  fact,  to  bind  the  contract,  he  has  al- 
ready advanced  me  a  comfortable  sum,  and — I  have 
run  through  with  it." 

"  You  must  return  every  dollar  of  it  then,"  she 
cried  shrilly.  "  I  repeat,  you  might  hill  me  in  endeav- 
oring to  compel  me  to  do  this  thing,  but  you  shall 
never  make  me  subservient  to  your  will.  You  have 
gone  too  far." 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 


THE  DESERTED  BRIDE. 

Waldemar  Waldron  gazed  steadily  down  into  the 
beautiful  death-like  face  raised  so  defiantly  to  his  own. 

He  knew  what  she  said  was  perfectly  true.  He 
might  kill  her — she  was  weak  and  fragile,  tender,  and 
helpless — but  he  could  never  wring  the  promise  he 
desired  from  her  lips. 

He  flung  the  white  arms  and  clinging,  trembling 
hands  from  him,  telling  her  that  she  should  take  the 
consequences  then.  He  left  her  with  a  cruel  laugh 
and  a  sneering  look  on  his  fair,  handsome  face  that 
stamped  out  all  its  beauty. 

Eeine  sank  down  into  the  nearest  chair,  and,  cover- 
ing her  face  with  her  hands,  burst  into  passionate 
tears. 

Could  Waldemar  be  so  near  upon  the  verge  of  ruin 
as  he  had  declared?  Ah,  surely  not!  He  had  said  it 
to  tease  her — to  frighten  her. 

She  made  up  her  mind  to  write  one  more  letter  to 
her  father.  She  would  lay  her  pride  aside,  and  beg 
him  to  help  Waldemar  for  her  sake.  Her  heart  felt 
lighter  after  it  was  written  and  mailed.  She  would 
tell  Waldemar  what  she  had  done  when  he  returned 
home  to  luncheon;  then  surely  he  would  be  more  kind 
to  her. 

The  noon  hour  came  and  went.  The  long  hours  of 
the  afternoon  dragged  themselves  slowly  by.  The 
sun  sank  at  length  in  the  western  sky,  and  the  dusk  of 
night  fell  silently  over  the  bustling  city,  still  Walde- 
mar Waldron  did  not  return. 

As  the  night  deepened,  Reine  took  up  her  station  by 
the  lace-draped  window,  eagerly  watching  for  him. 

Ah,  reader!  do  you  know  the  blank,  almost  terrible 
144 


THE  DESERTED  BRIDE. 


145 


calm  that  comes  just  before  a  storm,  when  the  wind 
sleeps  that  it  may  gather  force,  when  the  waves  lie 
silent  that  they  may  dash  and  foam,  when  the  ''color 
and  weight  of  lead  falls  over  the  sky,  and  the  earth 
grows  frightened?  That  strange  calm,  very  like  awe — 
swept  over  Heine's  heart  as  she  stood  hour  after  hour 
at  the  window,  listening  for  the  step  which  did  not 
come. 

This  was  not  the  first  time  that  Waldemar  had  ab- 
sented himself  in  like  manner,  yet  she  had  never  felt 
like  this  before.  There  was  a  forboding  sense  of  pain 
in  her  heart  which  she  could  not  shake  off.  Eleven 
o'clock  struck  from  a  clock  in  an  adjoining  church 
steeple;  and  as  the  last  stroke  died  away  some  one  ran 
lightly  up  the  broad  marble  steps,  and  touched  the 
bell. 

As  she  opened  the  door  of  her  boudoir  she  heard  her 
own  name  mentioned.  A  messenger  boy  stood  in  the 
vestibule  with  a  sealed  letter  in  his  hand. 

With  a  strange  fluttering  at  her  heart,  Reine  took  it, 
and  hurried  back  to  her  own  room.  It  was  in  AY  aide- 
mars  handwriting,  she  saw  at  a  glance,  and  she 
noticed,  too,  that  the  writing  was  hurried — agitated — 
as  though  it  had  been  done  under  the  stress  of  great 
emotion. 

Why  had  he  written  to  her  instead  of  coming  home? 
Had  anything  happened  to  him?  she  wondered,  and  in 
a  moment  all  the  old  love  flooded  her  heart  for  him. 
She  forgot  all  his  coldness  and  unkindness,  remember- 
ing him  only  as  the  handsome,  fair-haired,  graceful 
young  lover  for  whom  she  had  given  up  home,  father, 
friends  and  wealth,  the  lover  and  young  husband,  who 
had  taught  her  love's  young  dream. 

Had  ill  befallen  him? 

With  trembling  hands  she  broke  the  seal  and  tore 
open  the  envelope.  There  were  but  a  few  dozen  brief 
lines — surely  the  crudest  and  most  pitiful  that  ever 
broke  a  human  heart. 

A  wild  cry  broke  from  her  lips  as  her  eyes  ran  over 
the  first  few  words  on  the  page.    Then  the  stillness 
of  death  settled  around  her,  broke  now  and  then  by 
the  fluttering  of  the  sheet  in  her  trembling  hands. 
10 


146 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


These  were  the  words  she  read: 

"  R^ine: — By  the  time  this  letter  reaches  you  I  shall  be  far 
away.  It  is  better  to  speak  plainly  to  you,  telling  you  all.  I 
am  leaving  you  forever,  Heine,  for  I  cannot  face  you  after 
what  will  happen  to-morrow.  Perhaps,  after  all,  it  is  better  for 
you  to  be  free  from  such  a  wretch  as  I  own  myself  frankly  to 
be. 

"You  married  me  for  love.  Your  attractiveness  to  me  was 
— you  were  the  prospective  heiress  of  Fairlawn.  There  are 
men  whose  hearts  are  incapable  of  love,  for  love's  sake  alone. 
Mine,  I  admit,  is  one  of  them.  If  I  had  thought  your  father 
would  have  cast  you  off  as  he  has  done,  I  should  never  have 
snatched  you  from  luxury  and  happiness  to  share  such  a  rov- 
ing life  as  is  mine.  We  were  never  suited  for  each  other.  A 
sinner  like  myself  has  nothing  in  common  with  angelic  purity. 
We  have  lived  luxuriously,  and  now  we  are  come  to  the  end  of 
the  road — ruin  and  utter  bankruptcy.  Your  firm  denial  to 
make  one  more  effort  to  save  me  rendered  me  desperate,  as  I 
told  you.  I  am  a  profligate  by  nature.  I  have  won  and  lost 
much  money  at  cards.  Last  night  I  staked  our  all — the  furni- 
ture, plate  and  pictures  of  our  home,  and — lost.  They  have 
passed  into  other  hands,  and  to-morrow  they  will  be  taken 
from  you.  I  inclose  twenty  dollars ;  take  it,  and  return  to  the 
home  you  left  for  my  sake.  I  am  going  out  of  your  life,  sever- 
ing the  bonds  that  bound  us  to  each  other,  wilfully,  deliber- 
ately. You  are  not  the  first  wife  so  left;  it  is  common  enough 
for  hearts  to  break  over  it.  Try  and  forget  that  I  have  ever 
crossed  your  path,  for  I  am  not  worthy  of  reclaiming  or  being- 
reclaimed. 

"  Waldemab." 

Eeine  sat  quite  still,  with  her  letter  in  her  hand. 
She  read  to  the  very  end,  and  then  sat  still,  staring, 
dumb,  like  one  turned  to  stone.  She  did  not  cry  out, 
after  that  first  gasp  of  horror.  The  white  lips  were 
parted  and  open,  but  no  sound  came  from  them.  The 
lovely  blue  eyes  had  a  mild,  bewildered  expression. 
She  was  trying  to  realize  that  most  cruel  blow  that 
could  ever  strike  a  living  heart — that  she  was  a  de- 
serted bride.  Her  husband  had  fled  from  her — yes, 
fled  from  her,  wilfully,  deliberately.  Heaven  help 
her!  Was  there  any  remedy  either  on  earth  or  in 
heaven  for  such  woe  as  hers? 

What  shame,  what  grief,  what  outraged  love  and 
pride  swept  over  her  like  a  tempest,  as  she  sat  there 
looking  into  the  glowing  coals,  who  shall  say?  A  wild 
laugh  echoed  through  the  room.    It  quite  startled 


THE  DESERTED  BRIDE. 


Reine.  She  did  not  realize  that  it  was  her  own  voice. 
The  sound  of  that  strange  laugh  pierced  the  thick 
walls  to  the  inner  apartment,  where  Honora,  her  maid-, 
was  busy  sorting  a  package  of  new  lace  fichus.  She 
dropped  them  in  dismay,  and  hurried  to  Kerne's  bou- 
doir. One  look  at  the  white,  ghastly  face  bent  over  the 
open  letter  was  enough. 

"  Oh,  my  dear!  my  dear!  you  have  had  bad  news!" 
she  cried,  in  affright. 

Reine  looked  up  at  the  faithful  servitor  with  wide, 
sombre  eyes.  How  could  she  tell  her  what  had  hap- 
pened to  her? 

"Honora,"  she  sobbed,  with  quivering  lips,  tears — 
hot,  bitter  tears — falling  like  rain  down  her  face,  "  I 
may  tell  you — all  the  world  will  know  it  soon.  My — 
my  husband  has  deserted  me.  He  has  left  me  forever. 
Oh!  I  wish  to  Heaven  that  I  might  fall  down  dead!  " 

Deserted  her!  It  could  not  be!  Whatman  in  his 
senses  could  have  fled  from  a  young  wife  like  this — a 
young  wife  as  lovely  as  a  dream.  She  looked  bewil- 
dered. 

"Left  you!"  she  cried  in  horror.  "You  cannot 
mean  it,  my  lady!  " 

"It  is  quite  true,'*  sobbed  Eeine.  "Oh,  Honora! 
you  are  older  and  wiser  than  I,"  she  cried  out  in 
agony;  "tell  me  what  other  wives  do  when  their  hus- 
bands leave  them.  I  have  heard  that  such  things 
have  happened;  I  have  read  of  them;  but  it  never  oc- 
curred to  me  to  ask  what  the  poor  wives  did — whether 
their  hearts  broke,  or  whether  they  went  mad,  or  if 
they  committed  suicide." 

"  They  have  to  bear  it  calmly  and  patiently,  I 
think,''  replied  the  honest  maid,  who  had  always 
feared  that  something  of  this  kind  would  be  likely  to 
happen  to  her  beautiful,  hapless  young  mistress  sooner 
or  later. 

"I  can  never  live  to  bear  the  shame  and  disgrace  of 
it,  Honora,"  the  girl  moaned.  "If  I  walked  out  upon 
the  street,  saw  anyone  I  knew,  I  would  be  looked  at 
with  curiosity,  and  they  would  whisper  as  they  passed 
me  by,   '  Her  husband  left  her.    I  wonder  why?'  Oh, 


148 


A  FOKBIDDEK  MARRIAGE. 


Honora!  I  could  not  bear  that.  I — I  cannot  live  to 
endure  it!" 

"  Alone  she  sat — alone!  that  worn  out  word, 

So  idly  spoken  and  so  coldly  heard ; 

Yet  all  that  poets  sing  and  grief  hath  known, 

Of  hopes  laid  waste,  knells  in  that  word — alone!" 

"You  must  turn  a  deaf  ear  if  anyone  says  anything 
so  very  unkind  as  that/'  replied  Honora.  -  "  Other 
women  have  had  the  same  thing  to  endure — but  perhaps 
it  is  not  as  bad  as  you  think." 

"It  could  not  be  worse,"  moaned  Keine  ;  oh,  what 
am  I  to  do? 

The  maid  wa&  nonplussed.  "  Lay  down  and  try  to 
compose  yourself  to  sleep  a  little,  and  I  will  try  to 
think/'  said  Honora;  but  Reine  shook  her  head. 

"  It  seems  as  though  I  should  never  sleep  again/' 
she  sobbed  ;  "my  brain  is  on  fire." 

"  It  may  not  be  true  that  he  has  gone  away  forever," 
declared  Honora. 

For  some  moments  Reine  sat  silent;  then,  cowering 
down  in  her  chair,  she  buried  her  face  in  her  hands, 
saying  desperately — "  I  am  beginning  to  think  there 
is  no  such  thing  as  real  love.  I  read  once  wouds  I  mar- 
velled at  then,  but  which  seem  pitifully  true  now: 
'  that  some  say  the  devil  carried  the  seed  from  hell 
and  planted  it  on  the  earth  to  plague  men  and  make 
them  sin;  and  some  say  that  when  all  the  plants  in  the 
garden  of  Eden  were  pulled  up  by  the  roots,  one  bush 
that  the  angels  had  planted  was  left  growing,  and  it 
spread  its  seed  over  the  whole  world,  and  its  name  is 
— love.  There  are  different  species  under  that  name; 
one  love  that  blots  out  wisdom,  that  is  sweet  with  the 
sweetness  of  life  and  with  the  bitterness  of  death,  last- 
ing for  an  hour,  but  it  is  worth  having  lived  a  whole 
life  for  that  hour.  There  is  always  the  scent  of  a  god 
about  it. 

"  '  When  love's  sunshine  falls  on  the  dead  crust  of 
the  soul,  a  throbbing  yearning  wakes — a  new  life  stirs 
to  the  depths  of  the  heart; — that  alone  is  satisfying.' 

"I  thought  them  wonderful  words/'  repeated  Reine; 
now  I  have  lost  all  faith  in  love." 


THE  DESERTED  BRIDE. 


149 


Honora  had  listened,  but  she  could  not  comprehend 
such  a  strange  vein  of  musing. 

Suddenly  Heine  turned  toward  her  again,  clasping 
her  hands  nervously  together,  murmuring  in  a  low, 
broken  voice,  that  was  husky  with  suppressed  sobs: — 
"  Oh,  Honora  !  I  am  glad  I  never  brought  a  little 
child  into  the  world. " 

The  girl  started.  She  had  not  the  key  to  her  mis- 
tress' thoughts;  she  had  no  comment  to  offer  on  this 
unexpected  remark. 

Reine  went  on  thoughtfully:  "Night  after  night  I 
have  thanked  Heaven  on  my  bare  knees  that  I  have 
not  caused  another  to  suffer.  Do  you  think  that  was 
hard  for  me?  A  man  who  could  leave  his  wife,  could 
abandon  his  little  child  if  he  had  one.  Anything  is 
possible  to  a  man  whose  end  is  like  his.  Sinful — he 
moves  straight  for  it,  and  it  alone. 

"  Some  women  can  bend  men  and  tilings  completely 
to  their  purpose,  but  not  a  man  like  Waldeinar  Wal- 
dron;  they  are  the  ones  that  escape  the  stings  that 
strike  deep — these  women  who  control: — they  never 
throw  the  burden  of  their  sins  on  them.'' 

"To-morrow,  dear  mistress,  you  can  think  more 
clearly/'  said  Honora.  "  Do  let  me  implore  you  to  go 
to  bed;  "  and  with  that  she  loosened  the  coils  of  beau- 
tiful golden  hair  that  fell  down  over  her  shoulder  to 
her  waist  in  a  mass  of  shining  splendor. 

Honora  brought  the  dainty  robe  to  her  mistress,  and 
Reine  patiently  suffered  her  to  fasten  it  about  her. 

Throwing  herself  upon  her  couch,  her  bare  arms 
from  without  the  flowing  sleeves  clasping  her  pillow, 
Reine  soon  slept. 

"Poor  child — how  hard  she  is  taking  her  trouble," 
thought  the  maid,  watching  the  outlines  of  her  heav- 
ing breasts  and  listening  to  the  quivering  sighs  that 
trembled  on  her  lips. 

When  Honora  went  to  her  mistress'  room  the  next 
morning,  she  found  her  already  up  and  dressed. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


YOU  AEE  WANTED  IN  HASTE. 

Reine  pointed  to  the  letter  that  had  fallen  from  her 
clenched  hand  to  the  floor,  and  the  wild  laugh  that 
broke  from  her  lips  was  more  pitiful  to  hear  than  the 
stormiest  outburst  of  sobs. 

"  It  is  quite  true,  Honora.  He  has  left  me  wilfully 
and  deliberately.  Read  what  he  says,  and  be  con- 
vinced. Take  it  to  your  own  room.  I  cannot  bear  it 
in  my  sight"." 

"What  shall  you  do?"  said  Honora,  pityingly. 
"  If  I  were  you,  I  would  send  for  my  father." 

"No,  no,  no,"  gasped  Reine,  shudderingly.  "I 
would  not  have  him  know  what  has  befallen  me  for 
worlds.  You  do  not  know  the  kind  of  man  he  is.  He 
has  never  forgiven  me  for  marrying  Waldemar  against 
his  wishes." 

And  at  the  mention  of  her  father's  name  poor  Reine 
broke  down  utterly,  and  dropping  into  the  nearest 
chair,  gave  way  to  such  a  storm  of  grief  that  Honora 
was  fairly  frightened. 

What  words  could  she  find  to  comfort  her?  She 
realized  at  length  that  the  greatest  kindness  she  could 
show  her  would  be  to  leave  her  quite  alone,  and,  letter 
in  hand,  she  stole  softly  from,  the  room. 

It  was  quite  a  relief  to  get  beyond  the  sound  of  that 
violent  weeping.  Should  she  ever  be  able  to  forget 
the  lovely,  wistful,  tear-stained  face  as  she  saw  it  then? 

She  read  the  letter  over  and  over  again,  just  as 
Reine  had  done,  her  honest  anger  increasing  each  mo- 
ment. 

"The  miscreant!"  she  muttered.  "If  I  had  the 
making  of  the  law,  no  penalty  would  be  severe  enough 
for  a  man  who  had  deserted  his  wife. 

150 


YOU  ARE  WANTED  IX  HASTE. 


151 


"  Poor,,  pretty  young  bride! "  she  thought,  compas- 
sionately. "  Her  father  ought  to  know  what  has  hap- 
pened to  her.  If  he  has  any  heart  in  him  at  all,  he 
would  come  to  her,  and  protect  anil  comfort  her  in  a 
crisis  of  this  kind/"' 

A  sudden  idea  came  to  her. 

"  If  she's  too  proud  to  send  for  him,  why  couldn't  I 
do  it  for  her?    Yes,  I  will  do  it,"  she  cried. 

It  was  but  the  work  of  a  very  few  minutes  to  put 
her  project  into  execution.  A  half  hour  later  the 
message  flashed  along  the  wires  that  stretched  through 
the  lovely  scenery,  through  the  snow-capped  hills  and 
vales,  until  it  reached  the  pretty  little  town,  a  mile's 
distance  from  Fairlawn  Villa. 

It  was  past  midnight  when  the  messenger  rode  up  to 
deliver  it.    Yet  the  old  general  had  not  sought  rest. 

Bernard  Chesleigh  had  arrived  at  Fairlawn  Villa 
that  morning,  and  although  no  mention  of  Keine  had 
passed  between  them,  the  old  soldier  knew  quite  well 
why  Chesleigh  had  left  the  metropolis  so  suddenly. 
He  knew  Keine  was  there,  and  he  could  not  meet  her. 

The  servants  had  long  since  retired,  and  the  general 
answered  the  summons  himself. 

"  A  telegram!  "  he  cried,  holding  out  his  hand  ner- 
vously. 

In  a  moment  he  had  torn  open  the  envelope  and  mas- 
tered its  contents. 

"  General  Hastings.  Fairlawn  :  Your  daughter  is  in  great 
trouble.    I  strongly  urge  you  to  come  to  her  at  once." 

A  name  that  the  general  never  remembered  having 
heard  before  was  signed  to  it. 

His  features  worked  convulsively.  He  leaned  back 
heavily  against  a  massive  marble  column,  his  face 
rapidly  changing  from  red  to  white. 

Eeine  in  trouble!    What  could  it  mean? 

He  touched  the  bell  with  such  a  resounding  peal 
that  in  less  than  a  moment  the  frightened  and  dis- 
mayed servants  were  flocking  about  him. 

Like  the  general,  Bernard  Chesleigh  had  not  retired, 
and  the  unusual  disturbance  brought  him  to  the  scene 
at  once. 


152 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


General  Hastings  put  the  telegram  in  his  hands, 
with  an  anxious  face. 

"  Read  that  and  tell  me  what  you  think  of  it,"  he 
said,  hoarsely.  "My  Reine — in — trouble — I  am  quite 
unnerved  by  this  telegram,  Chesleigh,"  cried  the  old 
gentleman,  plaintively.  "Do  you  think  that  cursed 
villain  is  misusing  my  child,  now  that  he  has  her  so 
far  away  from  home  and  friends?"  asked  the  old  sol- 
dier, suddenly.  (t  If  I  thought  that,  1  would  follow 
him  to  the  world's  end,  and  lash  him  like  a  hound!" 

Bernard  Ohesleigh  turned  white  to  the  lips.  Had 
the  general  read  his  innermost  thoughts?  Had  he 
read  the  grave  fear  that  he  dared  not  put  into  words? 

The  scene  at  the  ball  rose  up  vividly  before  him. 
Had  Waldemar  Waldron  dared  raise  his  hand  against 
Reine  again?  If  he  had  he  should  answer  for  it  to 
him;  there  would  be  war  to  the  knife  between  them. 
He  would  revenge  her;  he  would  wipe  out  all  wrong 
done  her  if  it  cost  him  his  life. 

Waldemar  Waldron  had  won  Reine  from  him,  but, 
for  all  that,  he  should  not  abuse  her. 

He  read  the  telegram  through  and  handed  it  back  to 
the  general. 

Well,"  said  the  old  soldier,  huskily. 

"  I  should  advise  you  to  go  on  at  once  to  New  York 
and  investigate  this  matter,"  said  Bernard,  gravely. 

"You  will  accompany  me,  of  course,"  returned  the 
general. 

Bernard  shook  his  head. 

"  If  you  need  me,  send  for  me,"  he  said,  "  and  I  will 
come  on.  Remember,  your  daughter  was  once  my 
promised  bride,  general;  I  have  no  right  to  intrude 
into  the  household  of  my  rival;  but  remember,  too, 
though  fate  parted  us,  I  would  lay  down  my  life  for 
Reine.    God  bless  her!  " 

General  Hastings  was  fortunate  enough  to  catch  the 
early  express  on  the  following  morning.  And  all  the 
way  to  the  metropolis  he  was  occupied  in  trying  to 
think  what  could  possibly  be  wrong  with  Reine. 

He  found  the  street  and  number  indicated,  and,  with 
the  strangest  of  sensations  in  his  heart,  walked  hur- 
riedly up  the  massive  brown-stone  steps,  and  touched 


YOU  ARE  WASTED  IS  HASTE. 


153 


the  bell.  TVhat  if  "Waldemar  TTaldron  should  answer 
the  summons  himself?  How  awkward  the  meeting 
between  them  would  be! 

His  meditations  were  suddenly  cut  short  by  the 
opening  of  the  door  and  the  appearance  of  a  house- 
maid on  the  threshold. 

He  saw  at  a  glance  that  her  eyes  were  red  and 
swollen  with  weeping. 

"  I  am  General  Hastings,"  he  said;  "1  wish  to  see 
my  daughter,  Mrs.  TTaldron,  at  once.  Tell  me,  my 
good  girl,"  he  added  in  the  same  breath,  c<  is  she  well 
or — or — " 

"'Please  to  come  in,  sir.  I  have  been  expecting  you. 
I  sent  you  the  telegram/''  said  Honora  (for  it  was  she), 
as  she  ushered  him  into  the  drawing-room. 

"  I  will  go  to  my  daughter  at  once,"  said  the  general, 
nervously.  "Kindly  announce  me  without  delay,  my 
good  girl.  Your — your — telegram  has  worried  me. 
Tell  me  first,  however,  before  I  see  my  daughter,  what 
the  trouble  is  which  you  referred  to,  that  I  may  pre- 
pare myself  for  it." 

Honora  wrung  her  hands.  Xever  was  there  a  task 
so  hard  to  perform.  She  drew  from  her  pocket  the 
letter  Eeine  had  handed  her  the  night  before,  and 
placed  it  in  his  hands. 

In  an  instant  his  quick  eye  had  glanced  over  the  few 
terse  lines,  and  had  mastered  its  contents,  compre- 
hending its  import;  comprehending  all  too  clearly 
that  the  scoundrel  who  had  stolen  his  daughter  from 
him  had  deserted  her,  deliberately,  wilfully,  and  that, 
too,  ere  the  honey-moon  had  scarcely  waned. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  describe  the  scene  that 
followed;  how  the  old  general  raged  and  stormed, 
tearing  the  letter  into  a  thousand  fragments  and  grind- 
ing them  beneath  his  heel  deep  down  into  the  hearts 
of  the  crimson  roses  of  the  velvet  carpet. 

He  quite  forgot  the  giiTs  presence.  She  was  secretly 
wondering  how  she  could  break  the  next  and  worst 
blow  to  him. 

At  length  the  terrible  storm  of  anger  wore  itself 
away,  and  something  like  calm  came  to  him.  Then 
he  asked  to  be  taken  at  once  to  Eeine,  that  he  might 


154 


A  FOKBJDDEK  MARRIAGE. 


comfort  and  console  liis  child.  Then  calmly  Honora 
broke  the  trying  news  to  him — how,  in  the  morning, 
she  had  gone  to  her  mistress's  room,  and  found  it  quite 
empty.  Her  pretty  snow-white  bed  had  not  been  slept 
in,  and  upon  one  of  the  white  pillows  she  had  found 
a  note  in  Heine's  handwriting,  saying  that  she  was 
going  away,  and  bidding  each  one  of  her  servants  who 
had  served  her  so  well  and  faithfully,  good-bye. 

"I  cannot  stay  and  face  what  will  happen  to-morrow, 
Honora,"  she  wrote.    "  I  am  going  away." 

General  Hastings  listened  in  silence.  Words  can 
illy  portray  his  anguish. 

Tears  filled  his  eyes  as  he  looked  out  upon  the  scene 
without,  the  bare  branches  of  the  trees  beating  madly 
against  the  window  pane,  and  the  snow  coming  heavily 
down  in  great  blinding  drifts. 

Where  was  Heine — his  idol — his  darling? 

God  help  and  protect  her!  Thrown  out  upon  the 
cold  mercy  of  the  pitiless  world — breasting,  alone  and 
penniless,  the  merciless  storm!  His  lovely,  golden- 
haired  Keine,  so  daintily  and  tenderly  reared! 

There  would  have  been  little  mercy  shown  to  Wal- 
demar  Waldron  if  the  old  general  had  run  across  him 
just  then. 

Late  that  afternoon  Bernard  Chesleigh  received  the 
following  dispatch: 

"  Come  on  at  once.  Bring  Donald  Gray,  the  detective,  with 
you.  (Signed),  General  Hastings." 

Bernard  Chesleigh's  heart  beat  with  dread  apprehen- 
sion as  he  read  it.  He  responded  to  the  summons  at 
once.  He  was  in  quite  as  much  of  a  fever  of  anxiety 
as  the  general  himself  by  the  time  he  reached  New 
York  city. 

Together  Donald  Gray  and  himself  boarded  the  up- 
town elevated  car.  They  had  barely  seated  themselves 
ere  a  young  and  slender  girl  entered,  heavily  veiled, 
and  all  alone.  They  were  too  much  pre-occupied  to 
notice  the  start  of  surprise  she  gave,  or  hear  the  cry 
of  surprise  she  stifled  on  her  lips,  as  her  eyes  fell  upon 
the  face  of  Bernard  Chesleigh. 


YOU  ARE  WANTED  IX  HASTE. 


155 


It  was  useless  to  conjecture  why  lie  had  been  sent 
for,  but  Chesleigh  could  not  shake  off  from  his  mind 
the  impression  that  matters  were  worse  than  the  tele- 
gram had  set  forth. 

He  looked  from  the  open  window,  but  he  never  saw 
the  waving  trees,  and  the  houses,  as  the  train  dashed 
past  them,  he  was  so  preoccupied. 

"  Poor  Heine,"  he  murmured  below  his  breath,  "  I 
pray  Heaven  no  harm  has  befallen  her;  and  he  thought 
of  the  red  mark  on  her  lovely  face — the  imprint  of  the 
hand  that  had  dealt  her  a  blow. 

"Poor  Eeine! — what  had  happened  her?  ''  was  the 
agonizing  question  he  asked  himself  over  and  over 
again. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


THROWN  ON  THE  MERCILESS  WORLD. 

The  young  girl  who  entered  the  car  so  heavily  veiled 
was  Reine.  There  was  but  one  vacant  seat — the  one 
on  the  left  of  Bernard  Chesleigh — and  she  took  it, 
drawing  her  veil  more  securely  down  over  her  face 
that  he  might  not  recognize  her. 

At  a  station  further  on  Bernard  and  his  companion 
left  the  car. 

Reine  looked  after  the  tall  retreating  form  wistfully. 

Ah!  what  a  good,  noble  friend  this  lover  whom  she 
had  rejected  had  been  to  her!  She  was  in  sore  need  of 
counsel  and  advice;  but  not  for  worlds  would  she  have 
gone  to  Bernard  Chesleigh.  She  prayed  Heaven  that 
he  might  never  know  that  the  man  for  whom  she  had 
deserted  him  had,  in  his  turn,  now  forsaken  her. 

She  never  realized  until  now  what  Bernard,  who  had 
loved  her  so  dearly,  must  have  suffered. 

After  Honora,  her  maid,  had  left  her  the  night 
before,  for  long  hours  she  had  paced  the  floor  of  her 
boudoir,  trying  to  look  the  future  in  the  face,  and 
think  what  she  should  do.  All  the  long,  weary  night 
through  she  never  rested  her  head  upon  the  white  pil- 
low. Sleep  was  out  of  the  question  for  her.  It  seemed 
to  her  that  she  should  never  sleep  again. 

When  daylight  broke  she  had  packed  a  few  neces- 
sary articles  in  a  little  hand  satchel,  and  without  one 
glance  at  the  room — without  a  glance  about  the  pretty, 
ornamented  boudoir,  whose  adornings  she  had  grown 
to  love  so  well — she  hurried  down  the  stairs  softly,  and 
out  of  the  house  into  the  brisk  cold  of  the  December 
morning. 

The  streets  of  New  York  are  never  deserted.  Early 
as  the  hour  was,  busy  pedestrians  surged  to  and  fro. 

156 


THR0VTX  OX  THE  MERCILESS  WORLD. 


15T 


Eeine  was  swept  along  with  the  surging  throng, 
finding  herself  at  length  in  the  very  heart  of  Broad- 
way. 

It  was  not  until  the  sun  reached  the  horizon  that 
she  realized  how  faint  and  hungry  she  was,  and  that 
she  was  penniless,  all  save  the  half  dollar  which  she 
was  fortunate  enough  to  find  in  the  pocket  of  her 
dress.  But  what  would  she  do  when  that  was  gone? 
The  thought  appalled  her.  All  the  old  gay,  girlish 
life  seemed  to  have  been  left  far  behind  her,  like  a 
bright,  faded  dream.  Could  there  ever  have  been  a 
time  when  she  was  happy  and  without  care? 

Had  she  ever  been  petted,  loved  and  worshipped  as 
the  heiress  of  Fairlawn,  or  was  it  all  a  strange  dream? 

Oh!  if  she  had  but  learned  how  to  do  something  to 
support  herself  in  case  of  emergency  then,  she  would 
not  have  been  so  utterly  helpless  now.  She  uttered  a 
blind  prayer  to  Heaven  to  guide  her  as  she  walked 
wearily  along. 

And  the  event  which  happened  the  next  moment 
seemed  an  answer  to  that  piteous  appeal. 

She  had  scarcely  proceeded  a  dozen  steps  when  sud- 
denly she  stumbled  over  something  lying  directly 
beneath  her  feet. 

It  was  a  small  purse — a  lady's  purse.  Upon  opening 
it  Eeine  found  that  it  contained  a  few  dollars  in 
money,  a  tiny,  dark  curl  tied  with  a  bit  of  blue  rib- 
bon, and  an  old  envelope,  the  back  of  which  served  as 
a  memorandum;  several  items  were  jotted  down  upon 
it.  The  face  of  the  envelope,  however,  revealed  the 
name  and  address  of  the  owner  of  the  lost  purse.  It 
read:  "  Mrs.  William  Arnold,  No.  —  East  11th  Street, 
City." 

There  was  but  one  course  to  pursue — and  that  was 
to  return  the  purse  at  once  to  its  owner. 

The  street  indicated  w7as  some  distance  down-town. 
Thus  it  happened  that  Eeine  took  the  elevated  car, 
and  the  first  person  whom  she  beheld  was  Bernard 
Chesleigh. 

She  was  thankful  that  he  left  the  car  without  observ- 
ing her. 

Eeine  had  little  difficulty  in  finding  the  street  and 


158 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


number  she  sought.  It  was  a  neat  three-story  brick 
dwelling,  with  the  sign  of  "  Boarding"  upon  the  door. 

Eeine  inquired  for  Mrs.  Arnold.    She  was  ushered 
into  a  plain  but  neatly  furnished  parlor,  and  in  a  few 
moments  that  lady  made  her  appearance,  flushed,  nerv-  * 
ous,  and  somewhat  excited. 

"  Before  Heine  had  time  to  state  her  errand  she  saw 
the  pocketbook  in  her  hand,  and  a  cry  of  delight  broke 
from  her  lips. 

"I  was  fortunate  to  find  this  on  the  street  an  hour 
since,  and  rinding  your  address  within,  I  hastened  to 
return  it  to  you,"  said  Eeine,  simply. 

Mrs.  Arnold  thanked  her,  with  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"  It  was  not  the  loss  of  the  money  I  was  grieving 
about  just  as  you  came  in,  but  it  was  because  the  purse 
contained  a  lock  of  hair  of  my  daughter's.  She  died  a 
year  ago.  Money  could  not  have  bought  that  little, 
dark  curl  from  me,  I  value  it  so  highly.  I  was  just 
about  to  put  an  advertisement  for  it  in  the  "  Lost " 
column,  offering  to  pay  a  handsome  reward  for  its 
return.  If  you  will  accept  the  reward  I  was  about  to 
offer  I  shall  be  very  much  pleased." 

Eeine  drew  back,  flushing  painfully.  Accept  a 
reward  for.  doing  one's  duty?  She  felt  quite  hurt, 
and  refused  at  once,  on  the  impulse  of  the  moment; 
but  the  very  next  instant,  when  it  was  quite  too  late, 
she  remembered  how  sadly  she  was  in  need  of  money. 

Eeine  burst  into  tears,  and  then  the  true  state  of 
affairs  came  out, — that  she  was  penniless — that  she 
was  thrown  upon  her  own  resources  that  day,  for  the 
first  time  in  her  young  life;  that  she  had  not  even  a 
shelter  when  the  darkness  of  night  closed  in  around 
her. 

Mrs.  Arnold  was  shocked.  She  was  almost  rendered 
speechless.  What  young  girl  in  tens  of  thousands, 
similarly  situated,  would  have  brought  her  back  her 
purse? 

She  pressed  Eeine's  little  soft  hands  sympathetically, 
noting  the  while  how  beautiful  and  white  they  were, 
like  the  tender,  velvet  leaves  of  a  lily. 

Searching  for  employment — Heaven  pity  and  help 
her!    She  remembered  a  time,  far  back  in  her  own 


THROWN  OX  THE  MERCILESS  WORLD.  159 


life,  when  she  had  had  an  almost  similar  experience; 
and  she  remembered,  with  a  shudder,  she  had  told 
herself,  if  she  did  not  find  something  to  do  before 
nightfall,  she  would  kill  herself.  Better  a  quick  death 
than  the  maddening  tortures  of  starvation  and  expos- 
ure to  the  bitter  cold  in  the  dreary  streets.  Xow  she 
was  differently  situated — widowed— yet  doing  quite 
well  as  the  mistress  of  this  thrifty  boarding-place,  with 
a  neat  little  sum  put  by  for  a  rainy  day,  as  all  wise 
people  should  have.  Her  one  great  sorrow  had  been 
the  loss  of  her  daughter,  but  she  thanked  Heaven  that 
her  only  son — the  idol  of  her  heart — had  been  spared 
to  her. 

Do  not  weep  any  more,  my  dear."  said  the 
motherly  lady,  wiping  the  tears  from  Eeine's  eyes. 
"  You  shall  stay  here  with  me  until  you  can  find  some- 
thing to  do.  I  know  just  how  to  feel  for  you  in  your 
present  trouble — indeed  I  do." 

Eeine  was  only  too  glad  to  accept.  She  had  not  the 
least  idea  what  she  would  have  done  if  Heaven,  in  its 
mercy,  had  not  found  her  this  kind  friend. 

"I  shall  not  be  a  burden  to  you  long,  my  dear 
madam,"  said  Eeine  gratefully.  "  If  I  could  get 
a  place  to  teach  school,  or  find  pupils  for  music, 
drawing  or  French,  I  would  soon  be  able  to  repay 
you/5 

"You  seem  to  be  quite  accomplished.  If  you  could 
teach  all  these  things. "  said  Mrs.  Arnold,  "I  take  it 
you  must  have  been  rich  once." 

"My  father  was  worth  considerable,"  said  Eeine 
blushing  painfully.  "  I  never  thought  one  short  year 
ago,  that  I  should  ever  come  to  want." 

<:  Ah,  well,"  replied  the  good  woman,  cheerfully, 
"  many  a  man  is  rich  to-day  and  poor  to-morrow. 
The  world  never  knows  how  shaky  many  a  rich  man  is 
until  he  comes  to  die.  In  most  cases,  there's  a  mighty 
falling  off  in  their  wealth.  I  can  tell  you,  and  the  heirs 
find  themselves  in  tight  places.  " 

Eeine  did  not  correct  the  impression  the  good 
woman  was  evidently  laboring  under — that  she  was  an 
orphan. 

"'You  have  not  told  me  your  name,  my  dear,'*  said 


160 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


Mrs.  Arnold,  at  length.  "I  wish  to  present  you  to 
my  son  when  he  comes  in." 

"  My  name  is  Reine  Waldron,"  she  answered,  with 
another  flush,  debating  within  herself  whether  she 
ought  to  tell  this  good  woman  that  she  was  married  or 
not. 

She  concluded,  however,  that  if  she  were  to  tell  her 
she  would  be  obliged  to  repeat  to  her  all  of  her  sad 
story,  and  she  would  rather  have  died  than  have  said — 
"my  husband  left  me  yesterday,  for  no  offence  what- 
soever— left  me  wilfully,  deliberately." 

The  world  is  so  uncharitable  to  women,  especially  if 
a  sorrow  of  this  kind  befalls  them.  No,  no,  it  were 
better  far  to  say  nothing  upon  the  subject.  Let  them 
think  her  Miss  Waldron,  if  they  would. 

Mrs.  Arnold  conducted  Reine  to  a  very  neat  little 
bedroom  opening  off  from  her  own. 

"You  are  to  occupy  this  for  the  present,  my  dear," 
she  said. 

Reine  was  only  too  grateful,  and  she  thanked  her 
with  tears  in  her  eyes. 

When  the  six  o'clock  dinner  bell  rang,  Mrs.  Arnold 
came  hurriedly  into  the  room. 

"  My  son  has  come  home,"  she  said.  "  I  have  told 
him  of  the  little  episode  that  happened  me  this  after- 
noon, and  its  sequel,  which  he  declares  is  quite  roman- 
tic; and  Horace  is  anxious  to  see  you,  for  I  have  told 
him,  my  dear,  that  you  are  as  beautiful  as  you  are 
honest.  There  is  one  thing  more  he  tells  me  which 
will  be  the  best  of  news  for  you  to  hear.  .  He  thinks 
he  can  get  you  employment  to  copy  briefs  for  a  law 
firm;  that  is,  if  you  are  quick  with  the  pen,  and  write 
a  good,  plain  hand.  The  pay  isn't  much — about  three 
dollars  and  a  half  a  week;  but  you  had  better  take 
that  while  you  are  looking  about  to  better  yourself. 
Do  you  think  you  could  do  that  kind  of  work  accept- 
ably?   It  Avouldn't  do  to  make  mistakes,  you  know." 

"Iam  sure  I  could  do  it,"  replied  Reine,  faintly, 
romembering  the  hundreds  of  briefs  she  had  seen  in 
her  father's  study,  and  remembering  her  idle  curiosity 
as  her  eye  fell  upon  the  close-written  pages,  quire  after 
quire,  how  the  person  who  wrote  it  had  the  patience  to 
do  it. 


THROWX  OX  THE  MERCILESS  WORLD.  161 


And  now,  she,  the  petted  heiress,  the  disinherited 
daughter,  the  forsaken  young  wife,  was  glad  to  get  it 
to  do. 

She  followed  Mrs.  Arnold  down  to  the  parlor 
thoughtfully.  A  tall,  pleasant-faced  young  man  rose 
to  greet  them  as  they  entered. 

"Miss  Waldron,  I  have  the  pleasure  to  present  to 
you  my  son  Horace — Horace  Arnold, "  said  the  fond 
mother  proudly;  adding  in  almost  the  same  breath: 
"My  son  is  a  lawyer,  connected  with  the  law  firm  of 
Chesleigh  &  Sanford.  I  presume  you  have  heard  of 
the  firm." 

Heine  gave  a  violent  start,  but  neither  Mrs.  Arnold 
or  her  son  observed  it.  The  lovely  face  grew  a  shade 
paler  and  her  crimson  lips  trembled. 

"  Both  Mr.  Chesleigh  and  Mr.  Sanford  are  estima- 
ble gentlemen,"  Mrs.  Arnold  went  on,  enthusiasti- 
cally, "  especially  the  former.  Horace  is  very  much 
attached  to  him." 

Reine's  heart  gave  a  strange  throb,  half  pleasure, 
half  pain. 

How  well  every  one  loved  Bernard  Chesleigh  who 
knew  him!  Ah /how  blind  she  had  been  in  that  dark 
past! 

I  suppose  Horace  may  as  well  bring  some  briefs 
home  to-morrow  for  you  to  commence  on,"  suggested 
Mrs.  Arnold. 

"I  will  be  very  grateful  if  he  will  be  so  kind,'' 
replied  Reine. 

It  was  no  light  task  roiling  through  the  many 
meshes  of  legal  puzzles,  yet  Reine  never  complained  as 
the  days  came  and  went.  The  pretty  white  fingers 
were  always  ink-stained  now,  but  it  did  not  matter  to 
her;  those  little  stained  fingers  earned  for  her  her 
daily  bread. 

Horace  Arnold  taught  her  type-writing,  too;  then 
Reine  accomplished  her  work  with  great  rapidity. 

How  strange  it  was  that  while  General  Hastings  and 
Bernard  Chesleigh,  together  with  the  indefatigable 
Mr.  Gray,  were  searching  the  city  through  for  her, 
Reine  was  quietly  earning  her  living  almost  under 
their  very  eves! 
11 


CHAPTER  XXYI. 


ONE  KIND  EDITOR. 

Copying,  however,  proved  very  tedious,  and  not 
yery  remunerative  work  for  Eeine;  she  was  not  very 
quick  with  the  pen,  and  then,  to  make  the  matter  all 
the  worse,  it  was  just  that  season  of  the  year  when 
there  were  but  few  briefs  to  copy  other  than  were 
given  to  the  more  experienced  clerks. 

More  than  once  Reine  found  she  was  short  of  money 
for  her  board,  and  her  heart  sank  within  her. 

"  If  I  could  only  find  something  else  to  do  in  con- 
junction with  copying,"  she  thought  despairingly. 

One  day  an  idea  occurred  to  her  to  try  to  write 
poems  for  the  magazines.  In  those  old  days,  verses 
she  had  written  had  been  highly  praised.  If  God  had 
given  her  any  talent  in  this  line,  why  not  try  to  turn 
it  into  profit  now? 

She  consulted  with  Mrs.  Arnold  on  the  subject. 

"I  should  think  you  could  make  a  great  deal  in 
that  way,"  declared  Mrs.  Arnold.  "The  publishers 
have  to  print  somebody's  poems,  why  not  yours?  I'd 
try  it  by  all  means,  my  dear." 

Reine  did  try,  and  the  consequence  was,  she  pro- 
duced two  very  creditable  little  poems,  which  Mrs. 
Arnold  declared  to  be  the  most  pathetic  she  had  ever 
heard.  One  was  entitled,  "A  Misspent  Life," — the 
other,  "  A  Pathway  Strewn  with  Thorns." 

Mrs.  Arnold  further  insisted  any  publisher  would 
purchase  at  once,  after  hearing  the  first  lines. 

Thus  imbued  with  hope,  although  Reine  could  not 
share  her  friend's  enthusiasm  over  them,  she  started 
out  to  dispose  of  her  productions. 

She  took  a  list  of  the  publishers'  names  and  ad- 
dresses, and  made  a  tedious  tour  to  the  different 
cfiices. 

162 


02sE  KLXD  EDITOR. 


103 


Some  smiled,  when  they  heard  the  object  of  her 
call;  others  brusquely  declared  their  waste  basket  was 
full  of  poenis,  and  their  pigeon-holes  overrun  with 
them. 

At  last,  one  editor,  pitying  the  wistful  young  face, 
agreed  to  look  them  over  if  she  would  leave  them. 

He  had  seen. a  great  deal  of  authors  in  his  day.  It 
was  nothing  new  or  strange  to  him  to  see  a  white, 
wistful  face  looking  into  his  office  to  see  if  there  was 
any  good  news. 

At  first  he  used  to  purchase  himself,  rather  than  see 
the  pain  bad  news  inflicted  as  he  handed  back  the 
manuscripts.  Many  a  genius  struggling  in  the  depths, 
.  owed  their  first  start  in  life  to  him.  But  half  the 
manuscripts  he  bought,  he  could  find  no  possible  use 
for;  he  soon  found  he  might  invest  the  whole  of  his 
capital  in  such  dubious  ways.  He  was  compelled  to 
give  it  up,  and  contented  himself  by  giving  encourage- 
ment by  kindly  words. 

He  bought  Heine's  two  poems,  but  as  he  placed  the 
small  pittance  they  brought  into  her  hand,  he  told  her 
he  should  not  be  able  to  buy  any  more  from  her  until 
after  these  had  been  published,  which  would  be  some 
months  yet,  they  were  so  overstocked  just  then,  but 
wishing  her  great  success  meanwhile,  elsewhere. 

Keine  wrote  other  poems,  but  she  found  no  one  who 
wanted  to  buy  them. 

My  forte  does  not  lie  in  that  direction,"  she  t old- 
Mrs.  Arnold  one  day  with  a  faint  smile, — "  I  shall  go 
back  to  my  copying.  Some  day  I  shall  try  to  paint  a 
picture.  I  think  I  would  make  a  better  artist  than, 
poetess.  So  one  day  the  picture  was  commenced.  It 
progressed  slowly  enough,  her  time  was  so  occupied 
from  day  to  day  in  copying  the  briefs  young  Mr. 
Arnold  brought  home  to  her. 

It  never  occurred  to  generous-hearted  Bernard  Ches- 
leigh  to  inquire  who  the  young  girl  was,  whom  his 
clerk  had  modestly  suggested  to  add  to  their  corps  of 
copyists,  as  she  was  greatly  in  need  of  employment. 

"  By  all  means  give  her  copying  to  do  if  we  have 
work  for  her,"  he  had  responded,  heartily.  Then  he 
quite  forgot  the  matter  altogether. 


164 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


It  was  with  a  feeling  of .  strange  pleasure  Heine 
listened  evenings  to  Horace  Arnold's  conversation, 
which  always  touched  upon  Bernard  Chesleigh  more 
or  less. 

"  He  is  a  bachelor/'  he  said,  one  evening;  "  but  if 
report  speaks  truly,  he  won't  be  a  bachelor  long." 

"  Why — is — is — he  engaged  to — to — marry  any  one?" 
asked  Reine,  raising  a  strangely  white  face  up  from 
the  page  over  which  she  was  bending,  and  clutching 
her  pen  moie  tightly  in  her  hand. 

"No;  but  it's  only  a  question  of  time  before  he  will 
be,  I  imagine,"  laughed  Horace.  "  To  tell  you  the 
plain  truth,  if  you  will  pardon  the  language,  Miss 
Flora  Sanford,  his  partner's  niece,  has  made  a  'dead 
set 'for  Mr.  Chesleigh." 

Reine  looked  greatly  interested,  and  it  was  a  pleas- 
ure to  Horace  Arnold  to  have  such  an  attentive  lis- 
tener, and  he  went  on  readily  enough. 

"She  is  a  beautiful,  dashing  girl,  this  Miss  Flora, 
but  not  quite  the  style  Mr.  Chesleigh  admires  most,  if 
I  am  any  judge.  She  is  tall  and  dark,  like  a  Spanish 
princess.  She  always  reminds  me  of  a  picture  in  the 
magazine. 

"Every  day  she  comes  to  the  office  and  calls  for  her 
uncle;  but  we  clerks  know  that's  only  a  blind.  It's 
Mr.  Chesleigh  she  wants  to  see. 

"She  always  manages,  on  one  pretext  or  another,  to 
sit  and  chat  until  Mr.  Chesleigh  is  about  to  leave  the 
office  for  the  day,  and  she  very  kindly  offers  to  drive 
him  in  her  phaeton — which  is  at  the  door — to  his  des- 
tination. He  cannot  well  refuse,  and  is  quite  used  by 
this  time  to  being  made  a  captive  of.  She  will  get  the 
noblest  and  best-hearted  young  man  in  New  York 
when  she  does  get  him,"  young  Arnold  went  on,  medi- 
tatively. "He  is  certainly  a  capital  fellow,  and  will 
make  her  a  husband  that  any  young  lady  might  be 
proud  of — " 

"Why,  what  is  the  matter,  Miss  Waldron?  Are 
you  ill?"  he  cried,  in  affright.  "Your  face  is  the 
color  of  that  paper  in  your  hands.  How  stupid  of  me 
to  tire  you  by  recounting  gossip  concering  people 
whom  you  have  never  seen !  " 


0>TE  KIXD  EDITOR. 


165 


"I  am  very  tired;  that  is  all/'  said  Kerne,  laying 
down  her  pen  wearily.  "I  think  I  will  stop  writing 
for  to-day,  and  go  np  to  my  own  room.'' 

"  It  is  tiresome  work/5  admitted  Horace,  pityingly. 
"  Let  me  finish  those  pages  yon  have  in  your  hand, 
while  you  go  and  rest." 

Keine  shook  her  head. 

"  You  are  tired  enough  doing  your  own  day's  work," 
she  said.    "  I  must  not  tax  you  by  thinking  of  mine." 

It  "would  be  a  great  pleasure  to  me  to  do  anything 
for  you,  Miss  Keine,"  he  said,  modestly,  his  fair,  hand- 
some, boyish  face  flushing  hotly. 

But  Keine  shook  her  head  again,  and,  taking  the 
paper  with  her,  slowly  quitted  the  room. 

Horace  Arnold  looked  after  her  with  a  tender  light 
in  his  eyes. 

"  I  have  known  her  but  four  weeks,"  he  soliloquized, 
"and — I  love  her." 

All  the  beauty  and  warmth  of  the  room  seemed  to 
fade  as  the  door  closed  upon  her  slender,  retreating 
form. 

He  quite  believed  that  a  romantic  fate  had  brouglit 
Keine  to  his  mother's  home;  that  he  should  see  her, 
love  her,  and  in  time  win  for  his  own. 

Poor  boy!  how  little  he  dreamed  that  fate  had  an 
altogether  different  purpose  in  bringing  Keine  thither! 

Meanwhile  the  object  of  his  thoughts  went  wearily 
up  to  her  own  room.  All  night  long  Keine  tossed 
restlessly  upon  a  pillow  that  was  wet  with  burning 
tears. 

"  Why  do  I  weep?"  she  asked  herself,  bitterly,  over 
and  over  again.  "Is  it  because  they  tell  me  my  dear 
old  friend  is  to  marry  and  be  happy  at  last?  Am  I  so 
selfish  that,  because  /  have  found  no  happiness- 1  wreep 
when  I  hear  of  the  happiness  of  others?  " 

Of  course  he  would  marry  some  day.  Few  men 
remained  single  because  they  failed  to  win  their  first 
love. 

Yet  the  thought  brought  with  it  the  keenest  pain  to 
her  heart;  not  that  he  was,  or  ever  could  be,  anything 
to  her  now — for  a  barrier  that  could  never  be  beaten 


166 


A  roRBlDDEH  MARRIAGE. 


down  was  raised  between  them.  That  barrier  was 
Waldemar  Waldron. 

True,  he  had  deserted  her — wilfully,  deliberately — 
yet  she  was  still  his  wedded  wife  until  death  should 
come  to  her  to  break  the  heavy  bonds. 

She  must  not  complain,  for  she  had  fastened  those 
heavy  chains  that  shackled  her,  with  her  own  white 
hands. 

True,  she  could  have  found  freedom  through  re- 
course to  the  divorce  courts,  but  Eeine  shrank  from 
dissolving  the  ties  that  bound  her  in  that  way.  To 
her,  those  whom  God  had  joined  together  in  holy  mar- 
riage could  never  be  put  asunder  by  the  hand  of  man. 

From  that  hour  Reine-  commenced  to  droop  and 
fade;  still  she  kept  at  her  copying  with  feverish 
energy,  devoting  her  spare  time,  to  keep  her  mind 
busied,  by  painting  a  Southern  landscape. 

Quite  unconsciously  many  of  the  old  scenes  and  pic- 
turesque spots  in  the  vicinity  of  Fairlawn  were  worked 
out  upon  the  canvas  under  her  deft  brush,  even  to  a 
small  cascade  that  flowed  between  two  cleft  perpen- 
dicular rocks  at  the  rear  of  her  father's  estate. 

Horace  Arnold  was  delighted  with  it,  and  insisted 
upon  showing  it  to  an  old  friend  of  his — an  artist  who 
had  a  studio  on  Broadway. 

"  I  am  sure  Eeine  possesses  more  than  ordinary  tal- 
ent, mother,"  he  declared.  "Do  persuade  her  to  per- 
mit me  to  show  it  to  my  friend." 

In  vain  Eeine  protested;  mother  and  son  carried  their 
point,  and  Horace  duly  carried  it  to  his  friend's  studio. 

The  young  artist  went  in  raptures  over  it. 

"Why,  it  is  a  perfect  gem,  my  dear  boy,"  he  cried, 
laying  his  hand  on  his  friend's  shoulder.  "Whoever 
painted  that  is  a  genius.  It  is  so  true  to  nature.  I 
went  there  sketching  last  summer,  and  upon  my  honor 
I  did  not  do  one-half  so  well  as  this.  It  is  in  the  heart 
of  the  Virginia  hills,  near  a  grand  old  country-place, 
called  Fairlawn.  If  you  like,  I  will  put  it  in  my  win- 
dow with  the  artist's  name  attached,  and  who  knows 
but  what  it  will  bring  her  in  many  an  order,"  he  said, 
kindly. 

Horace  Arnold  was  delighted. 


OKE  KIKD  EDITOR. 


167 


"  Put  it  into  your  window  by  all  means/'  he  said, 
"but  as  for  putting  on  a  card  with  the  artist's  name,  I 
wouldn't  advise  it.    She  would  not  like  it,  I  am  sure." 

"Any  young  lady  ought  to  be  proud  to  put  her 
name  to  a  gem  like"  that,"  insisted  the  enthusiastic 
young  artist;  "however,  let  it  be  as  you  say.  I  should 
like  very  much  to  meet  this  young  artist.  Bring  her 
down  to  the  studio,  Arnold." 

Then  Horace  xirnold  saw  what  mischief  he  had  done. 
His  artist  friend  was  interested  in  Reine;  if  he  were  to 
see  her,  he  would  fall  in  love  with  her  on  sight.  Ah, 
no;  he  must  not  see  Eeine;  he  must  prevent  thai. 

How  quick  love  is  to  catch  the  flame  of  jealousy! 

Frederick  Ballon,  the  young  artist,  had  the  picture 
Reine  had  painted  put  into  a  superb  and  unique  frame, 
and  placed  it  in  the  window  without  delay. 

It  attracted  great  attention.  ~New  York  pedestrians 
have  an  eye  for  such  a  gorgeous  bit  of  coloring  as  was 
this;  so  true  to  nature,  one  could  almost  fancy  him- 
self transplanted  on  this  cold,  stormy  day,  to  the 
cheery  scenes  among  the  green  sunlit  hills  upon  which 
they  gazed. 

Quite  a  little  knot  of  beauty  worshippers  gathered 
about  the  artist's  window  ere  Reine's  picture  had  been 
there  an  hour;  and  this  was  what  had  attracted  Ber- 
nard Chesleigh  to  the  spot,  as  he  was.  hurrying  down 
Broadway. 

For  one  moment  he  gazed  carelessly  enough;  then  a 
sudden  whiteness  overspread  his  face,  as  his  quick  eyes 
took  in  every  detail  of  that  beloved  and  familiar  scene. 

He  stepped  inside  the  studio,  inquiring  if  the  pic- 
ture was  for  sale. 

The  young  artist  answered  in  the  affirmative;  adding, 
that  he  would  be  pleased  to  send  for  the  young  lady 
who  painted  it,  if  the  gentleman  had  any  thought  of 
purchasing  it;  or,  if  he  was  passing  that  way,  he  might 
call  upon  her  himself  in  reference  to  it.  No  doubt 
she  would  be  pleased  to  dispose  of  it,  and  at  a  very  low 
figure. 

The  artist  jotted  down  the  street  and  number,  apol- 
ogizing for  being  unable  to  furnish  him  the  name  of 
the  young  lady. 


168 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


Bernard  Chesleigh  put  the  slip  of  paper  in  his  pock- 
et-book. And,  an  hour  later,  finding  himself  in  that 
vicinity,  ran  lightly  up  the  steps  and  touched  the  bell, 
surprised  to  find  the  young  lady  living  at  the  home  of 
his  clerk. 

Mrs.  Arnold  was  delighted  to  see  him,  and  still  more 
delighted  to  learn  the  errand  upon  which  he  had  come. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 


I  HATE  COME  HOME  TO  DIE. 

Mrs.  Arnold  came  up  to  Seine's  room  all  in  a 
flutter  of  excitement,  and  told  her  the  wonderful  news. 
Mr.  Bernard  Chesleigh,  the  great  lawyer,  had  seen  the 
picture  in  a  window  in  passing — and,  being  told  her 
number,  had  come  to  purchase  it  if  it  was  for  sale. 

' '  Hoav  Seine's  heart  beat  as  she  listened! 

"  He  wants  to  buy  it  because  the  scene  recalls  the 
home  of  an  old  friend  who  has  but  very  recently  passed 
away." 

The  lovely  face  into  which  Mrs.  Arnold  gazed  was 
as  white  as  death;  a  great  trembling  had  seized  Seine. 

"  Tell  him  he  can  have  the  picture  at  any  price — 
he — he — thinks  it  is  worth,"  she  said  chokingly. 
"I — I — cannot  see  him; — and — and — Mrs.  Arnold — I 
beseech  you — do  not  mention  my  name  to  him." 

This  was  a  strange  freak  of  Seine's;  still,  Mrs.  Arnold 
consented  to  it.  Chesleigh  bought  the  picture,  but 
not  for  many  a  long  day  after,  did  he  learn  the  name 
of  the  artist. 

Seine  was  greatly  astounded  at  the  magnificent  sum 
Mr.  Chesleigh  left  for  the  picture. 

He  was  too  noble  to  take  advantage  of  a  struggling 
artist.  With  the  eyes  of  a  connoisseur  he  saw  that  the 
picture  was  a  little  gem — and  he  showed  his  great 
nobility  of  character  by  paying  for  it  accordingly. 
*  But  despite  the  sale  of  her  picture,  Seine  felt  heavy 
hearted;  who  could  the  old  friend  be,  who  had  passed 
away  so  suddenly?  A  nameless  dread  seized  her — terri- 
fied her — she  dared  not  put  the  thought  into  words 
that  flitted  through  her  brain. 

A  great  longing  came  to  her  to  visit  Fairlawn  once 
again,  and  look  upon  her  fathers  face.  Yes,  go  she 
must. 

169 


170 


A  FOKBIDDEK  MARRIAGE. 


Mrs.  Arnold's  parting  with  Reine,  whom  she  had 
grown  to  love,  was  quite  affecting. 

The  blow  fell  heaviest,  perhaps,  upon  her  son 
Horace.  His  face  was  deadly  pale,  but  he  preserved 
an  outwardly  calm  demeanor.  The  inward  cry  that 
welled  up  from  the  very  depths  of  his  heart  was: 

"  It  has  been  my  own  fault.  It  has  been  my  own 
hand  that  plunged  the  dagger  into  my  breast.  But 
'  for  that  picture  which  I  begged  her  to  place  on  exhibi- 
tion, they  would  not  have  discovered  my  beautiful 
Seine,  and  taken  her  from  me." 

He  bowed  his  handsome,  boyish  face  over  the  little 
white  hand  that  was  stretched  out  to  him  at  parting, 
and  the  fair  moustache  hid  the  grievous  quivering  of 
his  lips. 

"Good-bye,  Horace,  my  dear  friend,"  said  Reine, 
earnestly.  "  I  shall  never  forget  how  kind  you  have 
been  to  me.    I  shall  always  be  most  grateful." 

"  I  shall  always  be  your  true  friend  until  I  die,"  he 
answered,  huskily.  "  Try  to  remember  those  words. 
Say  to  yourself:  '  If  I  am  ever  in  great  trouble — if  the 
whole  world  turn  from  me — I  shall  ever  be  sure  of  one 
true  friend  in  Horace  Arnold." 

"I  shall  remember,"  said  Eeine,  gently. 

That  was  their  parting;  and  when  Mrs.  Arnold 
entered  the  parlor  an  hour  later,  wondering  why  her 
son  remained  there  so  long,  she  found  him  with  his 
head  buried  deep  in  the  velvet  cushions  of  the  sofa; 
deep  sighs,  that  were  almost  moans,  breaking  from  his 
lips;  then  she  knew  the  full  extent  of  the  mischief 
that  had  been  done.  Beautiful,  golden-haired  Keine 
had  taken  with  her  her  boy's  heart. 

It  was  a  love  as  mad  as  it  was  hopeless,  she  well 
knew,  for  her  keen  eyes  had  discovered  the  secret  he 
had  thought  guarded  so  well. 

From  this  she  had  drawn  her  own  conclusions.  She 
left  the  parlor  quickly  and  noiselessly,  and  her  boy 
never  knew  there  had  been  a  silent  witness  to  the 
agony  which  the  parting  with  Reine  had  cost  him. 

It  was  with  a  heart  thrilling  with  strange  conflicting 
emotions  Reine  took  her  seat  in  the  outward  bound 
Southern  express.    No  matter  how  cruelly  the  world 


I  HATE  COME  HOME  TO  DIE. 


in 


dealt  with  her,  she  had  always  whispered  to  her  hungry 
heart  she  could  always  creep  into  the  shelter  of  her 
father's  arms,  and  find  peace  there.  Xo  matter  what 
she  had  done,  the  old  general  would  find  forgiveness 
for  her,  when  she  came  back  to  him  crushed,  penitent, 
humbled, — a  poor  bruised  butterfly,  whose  bright 
wings  were  broken  and  trailing  in  the  dust. 
It  was  a  sweet  hope  to  cling  to. 

How  slowly  the  train  on  which  Keine  was  a  passen- 
ger seemed  to  creep  along! 

The  darkness  of  night  had  gathered  ere  she  reached 
the  cross-roads,  but  a  young  moon  hanging  like  a  jewel 
in  the  star-studded  sky,  threw  a  faint  white  light  over 
the  sleeping  trees  and  flowers. 

It  was  quite  three  miles  to  Fairlawn.  but  knowing 
the  road  so  well,  Reine  decided  to  walk  the  distance. 

She  remembered  the  last  time  she  had  passed  over 
that  road — fleeing  from  home  with  the  man  sbe  loved 
— in  defiance  to  her  fathers  command. 

Ah,  me,  every  word  of  the  old  general's  prophecy  had 
proven  true.  How  happy  her  young  life  might  have 
been  with  the  rose-bloom  of  an  honorable  mam's  love, 
brightening  her  existence!  She  was  only  a  wilful  girl 
then — only  sixteen — it  almost  seemed  to  her  long  cen- 
turies had  elapsed  since  that  fatal  day  she  had  gone 
with  handsome  spendthrift  YValdemar  Waldron,  to  fol- 
low his  fortunes. 

She  paused  a  moment  as  she  reached  the  gate,  tears 
that  quite  blinded  her,  falling  from  her  eyes  down  her 
pale,  wan  cheeks. 

She  heard  a  low  lowing  among  the  bushes;  she  knew 
before  she  turned  her  head,  that  it  was  the  old  Alder- 
ney  cow  Beatrix.  She  held  out  her  hand  and  patted 
its"  sleek  sides:  the  faithful  creature  rubbed  her  cold 
nose  against  her  shoulder. 

Reine  opened  the  gate  noiselessly  and  paused  again. 
How  still  and  dark  the  old  gray  stone  house,  with  its 
turrets  and  gables,  looked  to  her  as  she  crept  up  the 
well  remembered  walk  to  the  broad  veranda! 

A  tidy  maid  she  never  remembered  having  seen 
before,  was  sweeping  the  dead  leaves  from  before  the 
door. 


172 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


<e  Is  General  Hastings  within?"  inquired  Reine 
falteringly,  leaning  weakly  against  one  of  the  pillars 
of  the  porch. 

For  an  instant  the  girl  stared  blankly  into  the  white 
face  turned  so  wistfully  toward  her,  and  Reine  repeated 
her  words. 

"Do  you  not  know?  Why,  you  must  be  a  stranger 
hereabouts  to  ask  that  question,"  she  said.  "General 
Hastings — poor  old  gentleman — is  dead;  he  was  buried 
almost  a  fortnight  ago.  That  is  his  grave,  on  that  high 
hill  yonder;  you  can  see  the  tall  white  shaft  shining 
through  the  trees. 

For  a  long,  awful  moment,  the  darkness  of  death 
seemed  to  enfold  Reine;  the  world  seemed  to  stand 
still,  and  her  heart  to  slowly  break  then  and  there.  She 
put  out  her  hands  blindly,  and  sunk  down  on  the  cold 
stone  steps. 

"  Come  round  to  the  kitchen  and  let  me  get  you  a 
cup  of  hot  tea,"  said  the  girl  kindly,  as  she  gazed  piti- 
fully at  the  white,  pitiful  face  raised  to  her  own. 
"You  look  faint  and  worn." 

"  No,"  muttered  Reine,  with  white,  stiffening  lips. 

"  You'll  be  welcome  to  it,  dear  knows,"  insisted  the 
maid;  the  old  general  used  to  say,  'no  stranger  should 
ever  be  turned  from  his  door/  Come." 

And  she  half  led,  half  carried  Reine  into  the  cheery 
kitchen,  and  seated  her  by  the  genial,  glowing  fire. 

The  rest  of  the  servants  did  not  seem  to  be  about. 

How  natural  the  room  seemed  to  Reine.  Everything 
seemed  the  same  except  the  strange  face  of  this  new, 
kind  hearted  little  serving-maid. 

Reine  almost  expected  to  see  the  door  leading  into 
the  hallway  open,  and  her  father  come  quickly  over 
the  threshold,  his  ruddy  face  beaming  with  love,  and 
hear  his  hearty  bluff  voice,  crying  cheerily — 

"  You  have  come  back  to  your  old  father  at  last, 
dear;  I  always  knew  you  would  come  sooner  or  later — I 
have  been  watching  for  you,  all  these  long,  weary 
months.  Your  old  father  has  been  lonely  without  his 
wilful  little  madcap." 

Reine  aroused  herself  from  the  stupor  that  was  steal- 


I  HATE  COME  HOME  TO  DIE. 


ing  over  her.  Was  it  true  that  he  was  dead — dead: 
Ah,  pitying  God!  how  couAd  she  realize  it. 

''  Haven't  you  heard  the  story  of  the  old  general's 
death,"  asked  the  girl,  adding  in  the  next  breath,  "  no 
of  course  you  haven't,  or  you  wouldn't  have  called  here 
for  him  to-night." 

"  No — no — I  haven't  heard,"  faltered  Reine,  won't 
you  tell  me?  " 

"  It's  a  sad  tale,"  responded  the  girl,  brushing  off  a 
tear-drop  with  the  corner  of  her  apron.  "  The  doctors 
and  the  neighbors  say  he  died  of  apoplexy.  I  say.  he 
died  of  a  broken  heart,  and  it  is  the  will-o'-the-wisp 
daughter  of  his  who  ran  away  with  a  handsome  spend- 
thrift who  will  have  to  answer  for  it. 

"The  old  general  had  a  lovely  young  daughter,  with 
a  face  like  the  white  waxen  leaves  of  a  lily,  and  hair 
more  glorious  golden  than  its  golden  calyx,  as  pretty  a 
young  creature,  they  say.  as  the  sun  ever  shone  on. 

"  Lovely,  wilful  Reine  was  the  idol  of  the  old  gener- 
al's heart. 

"  His  one  anxiety  was  to  see  her  well  married  and 
settled  in  life;  he  always  had  a  foreboding,  they  say. 
that  she  might  not  turn  out  well,  she  was  so  wilful. 

"  He  picked  out  a  husband  for  her,  a  noble  gentleman, 
but  do  you  think  she  would  have  him?  Oh,  dear,  no, 
though  like  the  general,  he  fairly  idolized  the  ground 
her  pretty  feet  walked  over. 

"  She  fell  in  love  with  a  handsome  profligate,  a  trifler, 
and  despite  all  opposition,  eloped  with  him 

"  Perhaps  I  am  tiring  you  with  hearing  about  the 
general's  madcap  daughter,"  said  the  maid,  looking 
anxiously  at  the  white  face  of  the  stranger,  which  was 
each  moment  growing  more  ghastly. 

"  Xo — no,"  faltered  Reine.  "I  am  greatly  inter- 
ested— go  on." 

The  gossiping  maid  looked  pleased;  she  was  fond  of 
relating  the  story,  which  sounded  like  a  romance,  end- 
ing in  a  tragedy,  as  she  called  the  general's  death,  to 
any  one  who  had  not  heard  it. 

"'As  I  was  saying,"  she  continued,  "the  heiress 
ran  away  with  the  handsome  spendthrift  and  married 
him,  but  as  every  one  predicted,  she  soon  found  him 


174 


A  FORBIDDEK  MARRIAGE. 


out.  He  had  married  her  for  money,  not  for  love,  and  a 
pretty  life  he  led  her,  to  be  sure.  The  general's  wrath 
was  terrible;  he  cut  her  off  without  a  shilling,  and 
when  the  young  husband  found  that  out,  he  left  her. 

"  Some  one  wrote  to  the  general  about  it,  and  he  went 
on  to  bring  his  broken  hearted  daughter  home;  but 
when  he  got  there,  she  had  vanished.  He  hunted  for 
her  the  whole  world  over;  but  he  never  found  her.  He 
came  home,  took  to  his  bed,  and  never  left  it  alive. 

"The  old  general's  widowed  sister  was  sent  for  from 
away  down  in  Tennessee,  and  she  got  here  just  as  he 
was  breathing  his  last. 

"He  beckoned  her  to  him,  and  when  she  bent  over 
him,  he  whispered  brokenly: — 

"  '  Always  keep  the  latch  string  out,  Rachel;  some 
day  Heine  will  come  back — but  I  shall  not  be  here  to 
welcome  my  darling.  He  had  had  her  picture  brought 
from  the  library  and  hung  where  he  could  see  it,  and 
he  never  took  his  eyes  from  it.  It  would  have  made 
you  cry  if  you  had  heard  his  mind  wander,  the  moment 
before  he  passed  away.  He  seemed  to  imagine  he  was 
at  the  gate  of  heaven  and  had  met  his  dead  wife  there, 
for  he  cried  softly — '  Open  the  gate — open  the  gate/ 
adding  plaintively: — '  You  ask  me  what  I  have  done 
with  the  little  child  you  placed  in  my  arms,  dear,  when 
the  angels  took  you,  and  I  answer:  I  guarded  her  well, 
Evelyn;  but — I  lost  her;  some  day  she  will  come  to  you 
and  me  at  this  gate;  we  will  wait  for  her  here,  Evelyn; 
no  matter  where  she  has  been,  what  she  has  gone 
through,  she  is  still  the  little  darling  that  once  slept  in 
our  arms — our  pretty  little  Reine/ 

"After  that  he  never  spoke  again,  and,  we  know  he 
had  gone  to  join  his  angel  wife,  to  wait  at  the  gate  for 
Reine;  poor,  pretty,  wilful  Reine,  whose  name  was  the 
last  word  he  ever  spoke  on  earth. 

"Are  you  crying,  lady?"  asked  the  maid.  "Ah, 
well,  I  told  you  it  was  a  pitiful  story — it  would  bring 
tears  to  eyes  of  stone." 

By  a  great  effort  Reine  kept  from  swooning.  She 
rose  unsteadily  from  her  chair,  and  put  down  the  cup 
of  tea  untasted. 

"I  must  go,  thank  you;  and  good-bye,"  she  said. 


I  HAVE  COME  HOME  TO  DIE.  175 

And,  like  one  suddenly  stricken  blind  she  staggered 
out  of  the  house,  and  down  the  path,  and  was  lost  in 
the  darkness  beyond. 

She  crept  up  to  a  little,  white  gate,  by  the  side  of 
which  great  weeping  willow  trees  grew — opened  it,  and 
stole  softly  up  the  narrow  path  to  the  grand  old  sol- 
dier's grave;  she  knelt  down  upon  it,  parted  the  grass, 
laying  her  burning  face  upon  it,  and  with  her  arms 
thrown  about  the  cold  polished  marble  shaft,  wept 
tears  that  it  grieved  the  angels  to  witness. 

"  The  world  has  gone  all  wrong  with  me,  father," 
she  sobbed,  "  Heaven  has  punished  me  sorely  for  dis- 
obeying you:  oh,  how  bitterly  I  have  repented!  I  have 
been  unhappy  in  my  love — in  everything.  I  have  come 
back  to  die  upon  your  grave,  papa." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 


MAN  IS  BUT  MOKTAL. 

Suddenly  it  occurred  to  Reine  that  it  would  be  far 
better  to  steal  away  from  that  spot,  that  it  would  be 
better  to  hide  herself  forever  from  the  gaze  of  those 
who  had  known  her,  in  the  dark,  rippling  waves  of  the 
silent  water  that  skirted  Fairlawn. 

What  matter  what  became  of  her  whom  nobody 
loved? 

With  pale,  cold  lips,  poor  Reine  kissed  the  marble 
shaft,  praying  her  father  to  forgive  her  for  the  past, 
and  plead  at  the  great  White  Throne  for  what  she  was 
going  to  do — for  she  was  soon  to  join  him. 

Gathering  her  dark  cloak  about  her  and  looking 
back  with  one  long,  lingering  gaze,  that  had  her  very 
soul  in  it,  at  the  dark,  solemn  stone  house  on  the 
sloping  hillside,  and  at  the  steady  flame  that  shone 
like  a  beacon  light  from  the  kitchen  window,  the  poor 
child  turned  away,  and  crept  on  down  the  path  toward 
the  dark,  sullen  stream. 

The  wind  blew  coldly  on  her  face,  but  she  did  not 
hesitate.  Never  again  after  to-night,  would  she  see 
the  great  throbbing  world  with  its  mysteries,  its  mis- 
eries, its  hopes  and  its  loves.  When  spring  came  again 
her  feet  would  not  tread  the  grass;  never  again  would 
she  see  the  sweet  violets,  the  yellow  daffodils,  such  as 
grew  around  the  dear  old  home,  nodding  their  heads 
in  the  breeze.  Never  again  would  men  worship  her 
beauty;  never  more  would  she  see  love  glowing  in 
passionate  eyes  for  her  sake.    It  was  all  over. 

She  paused  on  the  margin  of  the  dark,  sullen  stream 
for  a  moment,  then  climbed  down  on  to  the  moss 
covered  rocks. 

"  Good-bye,  cruel  world,"  she  moaned;  "  no  one  will 
176 


MAX  IS  BUT  .MORTAL. 


177 


ever  miss  me;  no  one  cares  for  poor,  hapless  Seine." 
Only  the  echo  of  her  own  voice  answered  her.  Silence 
settled  down  again.  A  land-bird,  roused  from  its  sleep, 
opened  its  bright  eyes  and  gazed  at  her  from  its  nest 
among  the  rocks — that  was  all.  Xo  human  being 
cared  or  rose  from  their  quiet  sleep  to  save  her. 

Eeine  took  off  her  cloak  slowly.  The  cold  winds 
chilled  her.  but  she  did  not  mind  it.  Her  beautiful, 
curling,  golden  hair  had  loosened  from  the  coil  at  the 
back  of  her  head,  and  fell  in  a  shining  mass  of  glitter- 
ing splendor  to  her  waist,  but  she  did  not  heed  it.  " 

"  I  am  going  to  die,  and  you  will  never  know  how  I 
loved  you.  In  the  last  moments  of  my  life,  I  dare  own 
it  even  to  myself,  Bernard,"  she  moaned.  You  will 
never  know  that  I  learned  your  worth  too  late — yes — 
I  love  you,  and  you  alone.  I  have  seen  no  one  else  that 
I  love  in  the  crowd  of  faces  that  fill  the  world!  I  have 
seen  only  yours,  only  yours,  Bernard,  by  night  and  by 
day;  not  his,  Bernard.  I  have  since  learned  that  I 
never  loved  Waldemar  Waldron.  It  was  only  a  mad 
infatuation.  Your  face  has  smiled  upon  me  in  my 
dreams;  it  has  shone  down  on  me  from  the  stars; 
it  looks  up  to  me  from  the  water;  in  the  light  of 
the  sun,  in  the  beams  of  the  moon.  All  the  world  is 
blank  except  the  spot  where  you  are — and  that  is — 
heaven.    Suddenly  some  one  touched  her  on  the  arm. 

"What  are  you  doing  here  lady?"  asked  a  voice 
which  she  recognized  instantly  as  black  Tom's — he 
had  been  one  of  the  attaches  of  Fairlawn  Villa  ever 
since  Eeine  could  remember. 

She  shrank  back  from  him.  "I  meant  no  harm  in 
strolling  into  the  grounds/'  she  murmured,  endeavor- 
ing to  disguise  her  tone,  but  it  was  no  use;  he  sprung 
forward  peering  in  dismay  into  the  white,  averted 
face. 

"It's  Missy — Missy  Keine,  by  all  de  saints,  above!" 
he  exclaimed  excitedly. 

"  Yes,  it's  me,  Tom,"  she  sobbed.  "Don't  tell  any- 
body I  have  been  here.  I  have  been  to  poor  papa's 
grave,  and  now  I  am  going  away  again.  Oh,  Tom! 
take  great  care  of  it,  keep  the  grass  trimmed  down 
close,  and — and — plant  some  white  flowers  around  it— 
12 


178 


A  FOEBIDDEK  MAEEIAGE. 


my  white  rosebush,  that  I  loved  so  well,  and  the  white 
hyacinths — you  will  attend  to  it  Tom? — This  tearfully. 
"  Oh,  yes,  Missy  Reine." 

"  I — I — am  going  now,  Tom,"  she  faltered,  turning 
away,  but  he  caught  at  her  gown  with  trembling 
hands. 

"  What  fo'  should  you  go  away  fo'  again,  Missy 
Heine,"  he  entreated;  "  do  stay,  it  am  yer  own  home, 
ain't  it?  Missy  Woodstock — de  ole  genral's  sister,  am  a 
very  nice.pusson;  but  oh,  Missy,  we  ole  folk/  'bout  de 
place  like  de  ole  rulin'  best. 

"I  can't  stay  Tom,"  Heine  declared  shuddering, 
but:— 

"Man  proposes  and  God  disposes." 

It  was  destined  she  was  not  to  leave  Fairlawn  Villa 
so  soon.  She  took  one  step  forward,  then  exhausted 
nature  and  whirling  brain  asserted  itself.  Reine 
slipped  down  unconscious  in  the  long  lush  grass,  at 
faithful  Tom's  feet. 

"  Poor  Missy  Reine,"  he  muttered,  as  he  raised  her 
in  his  strong  arms.  It  was  but  the  work  of  a  moment 
to  carry  her  to  the  house;  and  almost  as  soon  as  he  had 
laid  her  down,  he  had  told  his  story  of  how  and  where 
he  had  met  Reine  and  all  that  had  transpired,  to  the 
astounded  servants  who  had  assembled,  attracted  by 
the  confusion. 

"  Thank  heaven  Reine  is  found,  at  last!"  sobbed 
Mrs.  Woodstock,  Heine's  aunt,  bending  over  the  pros- 
trate form,  and  death  white  face. 

All  the  usual  old-time  restoratives  proved  of  little 
avail,  and  a  doctor  was  quickly  summoned,  also  a  tele- 
gram to  Bernard  Chesleigh,  telling  him  what  had 
occurred,  was  sent  flashing  over  the  wires,  which 
brought  him  on  to  Virginia,  and  to  Fairlawn  Villa 
without  delay. 

It  was  many  a  long  day  ere  a  knowledge  of  her  sur- 
roundings came  to  Reine. 

One  day,  as  soon  as  Reine  was  able  to  be  about,  her 
aunt  sent  for  her  to  come  to  the  drawing-room,  adding 
that  "some  one  was  there  who  wished  to  see  her  very 
much." 


MAX  IS  BUT  MORTAL. 


179 


Girl-like,  she  took  a  glance  in  the  mirror  before 
going  down,  smoothing  her  collar,  and  pushing  back 
the  rings  of  golden,  curling  hair  from  her  forehead; 
and  in  that  momentary  glance  she  could  not  help  but 
notice  how  pale  and  thin  she  had  grown.  She  could 
scarcely  recognize  the  wan  face  reflected  there. 

She  walked  slowly  d©wn  to  the  parlor,  and  opened 
the  door.  Some  one  was  seated  in  the  shadow  of  the 
bay  window — some  one  who  uttered  a  cry  of  intense 
surprise  as  he  beheM  her;  and  the  next  moment  Ber- 
nard Chesleigh  was  clasping  her  hand,  looking  joyfully 
down  into  her  face. 

"  Why  did  you  hide  yourself  like  this  from  those 
who  love  you  best? "  he  asked,  sadly. 

Heine  hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"Did  you  know,  Bernard,  that  he — lie  left  me  for- 
ever?" she  sobbed.  "Left  me  wilfully,  deliberately 
— left  me  to  the  world's  cold  mercy,  dependent  upon 
myself  ?  " 

"  I  know  all,  Reine.  But  why,  in  the  hour  of  need, 
did  you  not  go  to  your  father,  who  loved  you  so  well, 
or  come  to  me? " 

"  Papa  would  never  have  received  me,"  she  faltered. 
"  He  shut  his  heart  against  me.  I  have  deserved  it  as 
the  price  of  my  folly." 

Bernard  Chesleigh  was  a  good  man,  but  he  could 
scarcely  refrain  from  cursing  the  villain  who  had 
wrecked  Reine's  young  life.  For  God  had  punished 
her  sufficiently  for  forgetting  the  words  of  her  dear 
old  Bible:  "  Honor  thy  father  and  thy  mother." 

Poor  Reine!  She  was  but  another  pitiful  example 
of  the  folly  of  eloping.  Will  young  girls  never  take 
heed,  and  learn  to  shun  false-hearted  lovers  whom  lov- 
ing friends  and  parents  strive  to  warn  them  against? 

She  continued  to  improve  in  health  and  strength 
rapidly;  and  once  more,  as  she  stood  among  the  roses, 
and  her  clear  laugh  rang  out,  she  seemed  like  the 
merry,  joyous  Reine  of  yore.  _ 

Bernard  Chesleigh  watched  her  with  yearning,  sor- 
rowful eyes,  no  longing  seeking  to  hide  the  truth  from 
himself.  He  loved  her  with  all  his  heart.  She  was 
his  first  and  only  love,  the  other  half  of  his  soul.  Yet 


ISO 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


she  was  separated  from  him  as  completely  as  though 
she  lay  in  her  grave. 

The  days  that  passed  were  all  too  hitter-sweet  to 
Bernard  Chesleigh.  He  was  only  human,  not  a  saint, 
and  it  was  beyond  human  nature  to  deny  himself  the 
joy  of  being  near  the  woman  he  loved. 

He  fell  slowly,  without  knowing  it,  from  the  state 
of  blind  worship  into  the  deepest  pit  passion  ever  digs 
for  men.  He  understood  it  at  last,  when  a  feeling  of 
despair  came  over  him,  and  he  said  to  himself  that  he 
would  give  his  very  life  to  clasp  her  in  his  arms  just 
one  fleeting  moment,  and  kiss  her,  even  should  he 
then  die.  It  was  when  that  thought  came  over  him 
that  he  realized  how  desperately,  how  madly  and 
blindly  he  loved  her,  and  more  now,  if  that  could  be, 
than  ever.  He  had  never  trembled  at  a  woman's  soft 
touch  before;  now,  if  his  hand  touched  hers,  if  her 
dress  touched  him  in  passing,  if,  as  he  bent  over  her 
to  read  or  to  sing,  the  perfume  from  her  hair  reached 
him,  he  trembled  like  a  strong  tree  swaying  in  the 
storm. 

He  knew  his  love  was  hopeless,  he  told  himself  over 
and  ov3r  g,gain  that  she  could  be  nothing  to  him,  and 
the  next  thing  was  to  fly  from  her,  to  go  where  the 
witchery  of  her  face  would  never  set  his  heart  on  fire 
again;  to  go  where  her  voice  would  not  reach  him. 
And  yet,  realizing  all  that,  he  still  lingered.  Why 
should  he  not?  life  was  all  too  short  to  cheat  himself 
of  a  few  hours  of  comfort..  What  would  it  matter? 

He  drained  his  cup  of  poison  slowly,  surely,  know- 
ing it  was  poison,  knowing  that  it  would  destroy  him, 
yet  unable  to  put  down  the  fatal  cup,  which  once 
tasted,  clings  to  the  lips.  He  found  himself  wonder- 
ing over  and  over  again,  if  she  were  but  free,  if  her 
heart  would  turn  to  him,  for  he  read  in  her  eyes  now 
a  look  which  was  new  in  them,  if  they  by  chance  met 
his;  then  the  white  lids  would  droop  over  them  and 
Reine  would  turn  confusedly  away. 

There  was  one  incident  that  happened  one  evening 
which  was  certainly  a  trying  one  for  both  Reine  and 
Chesleigh. 

The   latter  was   sitting  at  the  piano,  drumming 


MAX  IS  BUT  MORTAL. 


181 


thoughtfully  on  the  white  keys,  when  a  lady  who  was 
just  then  visiting  at  the  villa,  crossed  over  to  where 
Chesleigh  sat — requesting  him  to  try  a  piece  of  music 
for  her  which  she  had  just  received.  "I  think  I  have 
heard  you  sing  it  before."  she  said,  laying  it  before 
him. 

One  glance  at  the  title,  and  his  face  paled;  he 
turned  hastily  around:  Reine  was  in  the  room,  seated 
near  them.  He  bowed,  took  the  music,  placing  it  on 
the  rack;  the  next  moment  his  deep  impassioned  voice 
rang  through  the  room.  From  a  mirror  hung  over 
the  instrument,  he  could  see  Heine's  face  distinctly; 
their  eyes  had  met;  then  he  lowered  his  scorching  gaze, 
never  raising  his  eyes  again  until  he  had  finished  his 
song. 

These  were  the  words  he  sung: 

'•  And  have  you  quite  forgot  me,  dear? 

Or  say,  do  you  sometimes  dream 
What  life  might  have  been  if  we  wandered  still 

Together  by  wood  or  stream  ! 
Do  you  think  of  days  when  my  love  was  all 

The  world  could  give  or  take, 
Do  you  say  with  a  sigh  they  were  'happy  days,' 

Just  for  the  old  love's  sake? 

"Do  you  ever  sit  in  the  twilight,  dear, 

And  think  of  that  other  day. 
When  we  met.  and  parted,  and  journeyed  forth, 

Each  on  our  separate  way? 
I  turned  and  stood  for  a  moment,  dear, 

And  looked  in  your  face  to  take 
Its  memory  far  on  my  way  through  life, 

Just  for  the  old  love's  sake  S 

"Do  you  ever  think  they  were  bitter  words? 

Their  memory  haunts  me  yet: 
Do  you  wonder  how  you  could  say  farewell, 

And  wonder  if  I  forget? 
Dear,  my  heart  has  forgiven — forgiven  long  ago, 

Though  at  first  I  thought  'twould  break-" 
And  whenever  I  think — it  is  kindly  still — 

Just  for  the  old  love's  sake !  " 

Reine  rose  hastily  and  silently  quitted  the  room. 
Chesleigh  excused  himself  shortly  after  and  went 
out  into  the  grounds.    He  paced  rapidly  up  and  down 


182 


A  FOEBIDDEK  MABRIAGE. 


under  the  trees  to  cool  the  mad  fire  in  his  veins; 
future  possibilities,  with  their  alluring  fancies,  took 
possession  of  him,  clouding  his  better  nature;  that 
painful  issues  were  to  accrue,  he  could  not  foresee'. 

To  Chesleigh's  nature,  the  moment  was  cruel,  with 
its  yearnings  and  doubts. 

"I  should  save  myself  from  such  agitation  as  this," 
he  muttered,  hoarsely;  "I  will  not  go  through  it 
again."  Those  airy  visions  to  which  he  could  give  no 
outline,  rendered  his  thoughts  of  her  as  beautiful  as 
the  freshly-opened  violets  after  rain. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 


A  STORM  OX  THE  FLORIDA  COAST. 

As  soon  as  Reine's  health  would  permit  of  the 
journey,  it  was  decided  that  her  aunt  should  take  her 
to  Florida.  It  was  arranged,  through  Aunt  Rachel's 
earnest  request,  that  Bernard  should  join  them  a  little 
later. 

It  was  dangerous  to  his  peace  of  mind  to  be  so  near 
Reine,  but  he  could  not  deny  his  starving  heart  so 
small  a  crumb  of  comfort,  as  her  near  presence 
brought  to  him. 

He  felt  himself  drawn  like  the  fabled  moth,  irresist- 
ibly toward  the  flame,  and  the  words  came  to  him: — 

"  He  who  loves  the  danger  perishes  in  it.,? 

"  There's  nothing  like  travel  and  change  of  scene  to 
make  one  forget  sorrow,"  Mrs.  Woodstock  had  de- 
clared; "and  amid  new  scenes  Reine  would,  in  a 
measure,  forget  the  past." 

But,  alas!  how  human  calculations  fail.  A  week 
after  Bernard  arrived,  Reine's  aunt  was  attacked  with 
her  old  enemy,  the  rheumatism,  and  upon  Bernard 
devolved  the  task  of  cheering  Reine.  It  was  a  pleas- 
ure so  great  that  it  was  almost  pain. 

She  clung  to  him  with  all  the  old-time  childish 
thoughtfulness.  With  him  it  was  hard  to  refrain 
from  uttering  the  loving  words  that  often  rose  from 
his  heart  to  his  lips — so  hard  to  keep  down  the  love 
that  thrilled  every  nerve — yet  he  crushed  it  with  a 
mighty  power  that  surprised  even  himself. 

On  the  evening  Mrs.  Woodstock  had  been  stricken 
down,  the  three  had  planned  a  sail  on  the  water  as  far 
as  the  light-house,  which  was  situated  on  an  island  a 
few  miles  from  the  beach. 

183 


A  FORBIDDEN"  MARRIAGE. 


"  Never  mind  me,"  Aunt  Rachel  had  said,  irritably; 
"  don't  stay  on  my  account;  take  Eeine  and  go,  by  all 
means,  Bernard;  I'd  rather  be  alone." 

She  watched  the  tiny  boat  as  it  shot  into  the  sunny 
waves.  Eeine  looked  up  at  the  window,  kissing  her 
little  white  hand  to  her  until  the  light  bark  faded 
from  her  sight  in  the  blue  haze  of  the  distance. 

Aunt  Rachel  turned  away  from  the  window  with  a 
weary  sigh: 

"Ah!  but  for  her  folly — her  mad  folly — Reine 
might  have  been  Bernard's  wife!  How  would  it  all 
end?"  she  wondered.    Ah,  if  she  had  but  known! 

The  sun  was  low  in  the  western  sky  when  the  little 
boat  touched  the  island. 

"  I'm  afraid  we  will  not  have  time  to  explore  the 
light-house,"  said  Bernard,  anxiously.  "  If  I  am  any 
judge  we  shall  have  a  storm,  and  a  severe  one,  too.  I 
think  I  had  better  turn  the  boat  about,  and  head  for 
our  hotel  again." 

Reine  laughed  and  sprang  out  on  the  yellow  sands. 

"  The  storm-clouds  will  blow  over,  as  they  did  yes- 
terday," she  said.  "  See,  they  are  shifting  now.  We 
must  explore  the  old  quaint  light-house,  now  that  we 
are  here." 

Against  his  better  judgment  he  allowed  himself  to 
be  persuaded.  Whether  there  was  a  "  fate  "  in  it  or 
not,  only  Heaven  could  have  foretold. 

He  fastened  the  boat  and  followed  her  up  the  steep 
path  without  further  objection,  seeing  that  she  had 
set  her  heart  upon  it. 

The  evening  had  a  weird  beauty  all  its  own.  The 
rose  of  the  sunset,  mixed  with  gold,  had  dark  purple 
linings.  The  sea  was  calm,  but  the  color  of  it  had 
changed  from  blue  to  a  dull,  leaden  hue;  the  waves 
were  languid,  but  there  seemed  to  be  a  deep  under- 
current; the  boats  rocked,  the  white-sailed  ships 
passed  more  slowly  by;  every  now  and  then  there  was 
a  slow,  sullen  murmur  in  the  wind,  as  though  it  were 
collecting  force  for  some  special  purpose.  There  was 
a  heavy,  brooding  silence  over  the  trees  and  flowers  of 
the  little  island;  the  birds  seemed  frightened,  and 
sought  shelter  in  their  nests.  The  whole  scene  had  a 
weird  effect — grand,  beautiful,  terrible. 


A  STORM  ON  THE  FLORIDA  COAST. 


185 


While  they  stood  there  the  keeper  of  the  light,  a 
bronzed,  weather-beaten  old  sailor,  joined  them,  bow- 
ing to  the  tall,  broad-shouldered  young  man,  and  doff- 
ing his  cap  to  the  slender,  golden-haired  girl  by  his 
side. 

"  We  have  come  to  view  your  castle,"  smiled  Ber- 
nard; "that  is,  if  you  do  not  object." 

The  old  keeper  declared  that  he  would  be  only  too 
pleased  to  show  them  about,  adding  that  they  were 
just  in  time  to  see  the  great  lamp  lighted.  Even  as 
he  spoke  the  leaden  hue  of  the  water  deepened,  and 
the  weird  colors  died  out  of  the  sk}^ 

The  grave  light  deepened  in  Bernard  Chesleigh's 
eyes. 

"  That  usually  presages  a  storm,"  he  said.  "  Do 
you  think  it  is  far  off?  " 

"It  will  be  upon  us  directly,"  declared  the  keeper. 
"  You  must  bring  the  lady  in,  sir,  and  wait  a  bit  until 
its  fury  is  spent.  See,  the  great  drops  are  commenc- 
ing to  fall  now." 

"  Are  the  storms  here  very  dangerous?  "  asked  Ber- 
nard, following  his  guide,  and  assisting  Eeine  up  the 
steep,  rugged  path. 

"The  storms  do  a  sight  of  damage  at  times.  Just 
by  the  white  rock  there  lies  a  dangerous  reef,  and 
many  a  good  ship  has  been  battered  to  pieces  there." 

While  they  were  speaking,  the  darkness  of  night 
seemed  to  fall  like  a  pall  over  the  earth,  without  warn- 
ing. And  they  had  barely  reached  shelter  ere  the 
storm  broke  in  all  its  fury.  The  hissing  of  the  wind 
rose  into  a  scream,  the  sullen  waters  into  a  roar,  the 
rain  fell  in  torrents,  and  the  lightning  flashed  in 
white,  blinding  sheets. 

It  was  one  of  those  terrible  storms  that  sweep  at 
times  over  the  Florida  coast,  carrying  destruction  with 
it.  At  first  it  was  wonderful;  then  it  became  awful; 
at  last  alarming.  And  in  the  midst  of  it  all,  some- 
thing terrible  happened.  The  awful  hurricane  demol- 
ished one  of  the  windows  of  the  tower,  and  the  deluge 
of  water  put  out  the  great  lamp. 

The  keeper's  bronzed  face  paled. 

"Great  God!"  he  cried,  "the  light  is  out!  Heaven 


186 


A  FORBIDDEN"  MARRIAGE. 


help  any  vessel  on  the  sea  that  must  pass  this  way  to- 
night!" 

A  lurid  flash  of  lightning  lit  up  the  room,  showing 
the  ghastly  effect  of  the  weird,  awful  scene  outside. 

A  low  cry  broke  from  Reine's  lips.4  The  old  light- 
house seemed  to  rock  on  its  foundation.  The  angry 
waves,  rolling  mountain-high,  seemed  to  threaten  to 
dash  it  at  any  instant  into  the  hungry  sea. 

Reine  clung  to  Bernard's  strong  strong  arm  with 
trembling  hands,  and  the  flashes  of  light  showed  him 
the  pale  face,  quivering  lips,  and  eyes  distended  with 
fear. 

Oh,  how  he  longed  to  take  her  in  his  arms  and  com- 
fort her.    But  his  shield  of  honor  restrained  him. 

Suddenly,  as  they  stood  there,  a  terrible  sound 
smote  their  ears — a  sound  that  strikes  terror  to  every 
heart:  the  firing  of  the  minute  guns,  which  denotes  a 
ship  in  distress  at  sea. 

Louder  and  loader  sounds  the  booming  of  the  signal 
guns. 

Bernard  Chesleigh  listens,  his  grave  face  whitening. 

In  an  instant  the  keeper  of  the  light  had  sprung 
for  his  tar  jacket  and  lantern. 

<(A  ship  in  distress.  I  must  get  my  life-boat  and 
go  to  the  rescue/'  he  said,  simply. 

And  snatching  up  his  lantern,  he  was  gone  in  a 
trice. 

Hark!    There  it  is  again.    The  terrible  booming. 

Bernard  Chesleigh  unclasps  the  little,  white,  cling- 
ing hands  from  his  arm. 

"The  old  keeper  of  the  light  has  shown  me  my 
duty,  Reine.  He  has  gone  to  the  rescue.  I  cannot 
stand  here  while  my  fellow-creatures  are  crying  for 
aid,  facing  death.  I  must  go  and  help.  I  must  save 
a  life  if  1  can." 

Reine  clung  to  him  in  wild  alarm. 

"You  must  not  go,  Bernard,"  she  sobbed,  pit- 
eously.  "  You  would  die  in  those  horrible  waves, 
and  it  would  kill  me.    Oh,  Bernard,  do  not  leave  me. " 

"  I  must,  Reine,"  he  said  hoarsely,  bending  his 
handsome  head  and  kissing  reverently  the  little  white 
hands  that  clung  to  him  so  frantically. 


A  STORM  OX  THE  FLORIDA  COAST. 


is; 


He  loosened  the  white  hands,  and,  in  a  flash,  she 
was  standing  alone  in  the  deserted  light-honse. 

Eeine  sprang  through  the  doorway  after  him  with 
a  wild  cry.  She  forgot  the  drenching  rain  and  terrible 
storm  as  she  tore  madly  down  the  beach  after  him, 
crying  out,  wildly: 

-'•'Oh,  Bernard!  Bernard!  You  are  going  out  to 
death!  Take  me  with  you,  and  let  me  die,  too,  for 
I  cannot  live  without  you! " 

And  those  piercing  cries  smote  Bernard  Chesleiglrs 
ears  far  out  among  the  mad  waves,  as  he  valiantly 
headed  his  life-boat  toward  the  fearful  wreck  on  the 
reefs. 

How  the  words  clung  to  him!  They  revealed  that 
which  made  his  heart  bound  with  a  great  throbbing 
pain — Reine  cared — yes  she  cared  for  him. 

How  cruel  the  knowledge  was  to  him  now  when  it 
was  too  late!  She  was  nothing  more  to  him  now  save 
a  dearly  loved  sister. 

"Words  that  he  had  read  somewhere,  came  back  to 
him  in  that  moment  with  a  dull  pain. 

"  Had  I  met  thee  in  thy  beanty, 

"When  thy  hand  and  heart  were  free, 
When  no  other  claimed  the  duty. 

Which  thy  soul  would  yield  to  me; 
Had  I  wooed  thee,  had  I  won  thee, 

Oh.  how  blest  had  been  my  fate, 
But  thy  sweetness  hath  undone  me, 

I  have  found  thee — but  too  late! 

Like  the  fawn  that  finds  the  fountain, 

With  the  arrow  in  his  breast; 
Or  like  light  upon  the  mountain. 

Where  the  snow  must  ever  rest; 
Thou  hast  known  me — but  forget  me! 

For  I  feel  that  ills  await, 
Oh!  'tis  madness  to  have  met  thee, 

To  have  fouad  thee — but  too  late  1 " 

Yes  he  had  found  Reine — but  too  late.  But  he  must 
put  all  thoughts  of  her  from  him  at  this  moment  and 
think  only  of  those  in  such  dread  peril  out  there  at 
the  mercy  of  the  deep. 

AVas  it  a  reckless  madness  that  siezed  him,  to  wish 
for  half  a  moment  that,  he  might  not  live  to  return? 


©HAPTEK  XXX. 


LIFE  OR  DEATH. 

The  rain  beat  upon  Keine's  golden  head;  the  terri- 
ble storm  drenched  her  clothing  through  and  through, 
yet  she  did  not  appear  to  notice  it.  Her  white  hands 
beat  the  air;  bitter  cries  fell  from  her  lips  as  she  flung 
herself  down  on  her  knees,  sobbing  out  that  if  he 
never  came  back  to  her,  she  would  throw  herself  into 
the  sea. 

If  he  found  death  in  those  cruel  waves,  dashing 
mountain  high,  she  would  find  a  grave  there,  too,  and 
the  sad  sea  waves  should  sing  a  requiem  over  both. 

Breathlessly,  in  the  vivid  flashes  of  blinding  light, 
she  watched  the  little  life-boat  battling  with  the  angry 
sea.  & 

The  scene  on  the  wrecked  steamer  was  a  terrible 
one.  The  life-boats  had  been  lowered;  but  many  of 
the  frightened  passengers,  in  their  mad  terror,  had 
thrown  themselves  in  the  lashing  sea. 

She  had  struck  the  treacherous  reef,  and  it  was  but 
a  question  of  a  few  terrible  moments  ere  she  would  go 
down,  for  she  was  fast  settling.  The  steamer  was 
doomed. 

Not  a  soul  seemed  to  be  on  board  the  fatal  steamer 
when  Bernard  reached  it,  and  a  voluntary  cry, 
"  Thank  God!  all  have  been  saved!"  burst  from  his 
lips. 

He  turned  to  leap  into  his  boat  again,  but  at  that 
instant  a  low  moan  fell  upon  his  ear  from  down  the 
hatchway. 

Seizing  a  lantern  that  one  of  the  sailors  had  left, 
Chesleigh  sprang  in  the  direction  from  which  the 
sound  proceeded. 

A  man  was  attempting  to  make  his  way  toward 
188 


LIFE  OR  DEATH. 


189 


the  deck.  By  the  feeble,  flickering  light  from  the 
lantern  he  carried,  Bernard  Chesleigh  saw  that  his 
face  was  covered  with  blood  from  a  wound  on  his 
temple. 

He  cried  out,  faintly,  rejoicing  to  see  succor  at 
hand: 

"  One  of  the  spars  fell  upon  me,  and  I  must  have 
lost  consciousness.  They  left  me  here  to  die,"  he  said, 
putting  out  his  hands  gropingly  to  reach  the  spot 
where  his  rescuer  stood. 

He  took  one  step  forward,  then  staggered  blindly, 
and  fell  at  Bernard's  feet  exhausted,  crying,  faintly: 

H  I  am  too  weak  to  walk — I — " 

The  sentence  never  was  finished.  Bernard  Ches- 
leigh bad  stooped  beside  him,  holding  the  lantern 
close  to  his  face. 

There  was  a  hoarse  cry  from  the  lips  of  both. 

' '  Bernard  Chesleigh!  " 

"  Waldemar  Waldron!" 

In  that  awful  moment  they  had  recognized  each 
other;  each  was  gazing  into  the  face  of  the  other  with 
bated  breath — these  two  who  had  been  such  bitter 
rivals  for  the  love  of  Beautiful  Reine. 

"Ah,  it  is  you!"  gasped  AYaldron,  white  to  the  lips. 
"  Then  all  hope  of  rescue  is  at  an  end.  You  will 
leave  me  to  die/' 

Bernard  Chesleigh  had  drawn  back  with  a  face 
ghastly  white.  There  are  moments  when  the  bravest 
and  most  honorable  of  us  have  been  sorely  tempted — 
tempted  almost  beyond  the  power  of  human  endurance 
— and  such  a  moment  of  terrible  temptation  assailed 
Bernard  Chesleigh  now. 

His  rival  lay  at  his  feet,  maimed,  helpless,  at  his 
mercy.  He  need  but  turn  and  fly;  speak  no  word; 
lift  not  so  much  as  a  finger,  and,  ere  he  reached  the 
shore,  the  steamer  would  go  down,  carrying  with  it 
the  barrier  that  parted  him  from  the  woman  he  loved. 

If  Reine  were  but  free,  he  might  woo  and  win  her. 
This  man's  life  parted  them.  His  death  would  set 
her  free.  The  world  would  never  know — even  Reine 
need  not  be  told — no  one  would  suspect  that  his  hands 
were  crimsoned  with  the  blood  of  a  human  life. 


190 


A  FORBTDDEtf  MARRTAGE, 


Wgfltfemar  Waldron  gazed  fearfully  up  into  the 
white  face  bending  over  him,  and  read  all  the  struggle 
there.    The  poor  wretch  groaned  aloud. 

The  tempter  cried:  "  He  has  wrecked  and  spoiled 
your  life  and  Heine's.  Let  him  die.  Make  for  your- 
self a  golden  future."  Honor  and  conscience  cried 
out:  "  You  must  save  a  human  life,  no  matter  how 
painfully  your  lives  have  crossed." 

"  I  will  save  you!  "  cried  Chesleigh,  hoarsely,  "  for 
Keine's  sake.  Make  amends  to  her  for  the  past,  and  I 
shall  be  repaid." 

Waldemar  Waldron  was  too  much  spent  to  utter  the 
grateful  words  that  sprang  to  his  lips. 

By  main  force  Bernard  Chesleigh  succeeded  in 
lowering  him  into  the  skiff,  grasped  the  oars,  and 
again  the  little  boat,  with  its  double  burden,  was 
breasting  the  mad  waves. 

They  were  scarcely  out  of  danger's  way  a  moment  too 
soon,  for  the  boat  went  down,  dragging  all  witliin  her 
reach  into  the  whirlpool — down,  down  to  the  rocks 
full  many  a  fathom  below. 

They  reached  the  shore  in  safety.  The  excitement 
and  the  pain  of  the  wound  on  the  temple  had  been  too 
much  for  Waldemar  Waldron,  and  again  he  had  suc- 
cumbed to  unconsciousness. 

Ohesleigh  lifted  the  inanimate  form  in  his  strong 
arms  and  laid  him  on  the  beach,  then  hastened  to 
secure  his  boat,  which  the  high  tide  threatened  to 
take  out  to  sea  with  each  high  wave. 

The  rain  had  ceased,  and  the  moon  looked  out 
clear  and  bright  from  the  net-work  of  jagged  clouds. 

It  seemed  but  an  instant  that  Chesleigh  had  spent 
in  securing  his  boat,  but  when  he  turned  around,  lo! 
no  motionless  form  lay  where  he  had  placed  it.  The 
white-capped,  eddying  waves  curled  around  the  spot. 
Waldemar  Waldron  was  not  there! 

Then  the  horrible  truth  burst  upon  him.  The  tide 
had  carried  its  unconscious  victim  out  to  sea  again. 
He  had  done  his  best  to  save  Waldemar  Waldron,  but 
it  seemed  to  be  the  will  of  Heaven  that  he  should  not 
be  spared. 

With  hurried  steps  he  regained  the  light-house,  and 


LIFE  OR  DEATH. 


found  poor  Reine  suffering  from  hysterics,  in 

of  the  light-house  keeper's  daughter.    It  would  have 

brought  tears  of  pity  to  any  one's  eyes  to  have  heard 

her  cry  of  joy  as  Bernard  flung  open  the  door  and 

entered. 

He  did  not  tell  her  just  then  the  startling  revelation 
lie  had  to  make.  She  was  too  weak  to  bear  such  a 
shock. 

Mrs.  Woodstock  was  waiting  for  them  at  the  hotel 
in  the  greatest  alarm.  "Safe!"  she  cried,  clasping 
Reine  in  her  arms.  "I  feared  you  were  both  at  the 
bottom  of  the  sea.  I  was  sorry — so  sorry  that  I  con- 
sented to  your  going." 

That  night,  when  Reine  lay  sleeping  the  sleep  of 
exhaustion  upon  her  pillow,  Bernard  Chesleigh  was 
relating  to  Mrs.  Woodstock  all  that  had  transpired. 

When  he  had  finished  the  two  sat  looking  earnestly 
into  each  other's  eyes. 

"  You  have  proven  yourself  a  noble  foe,"  said  Aunt 
Rachel,  huskily  grasping  the  other's  hand.  "  You 
did  what  you  could  to  save  his  life.  Perhaps  Heaven 
knew  what  was  for  the  best  when  it  interfered." 

The  terrible  story  that  had  so  strange  an  ending  was 
not  told  to  Reine  for  many  a  long  day  after. 

She  was  back  in  the  old  garden  at  Fairlawn  when 
her  aunt  gently  broke  the  news  to  her  months  later. 

She  did  not  cry  out.  She  did  not  weep.  She 
listened  like  one  turned  to  stone. 

"  Waldemar  was  not  kind  to  me,  Aunt  Rachel,"  she 
said,  slowly.  "Still  I  loved  him  once.  I  grieve  that 
he  met  such  an  untimely  fate.  I  can  never  look  again 
on  the  hungr}^,  sobbing  sea,  for  I  should  see  his  face 
in  the  waves." 

Yet  even  as  she  spoke  she  realized  that  his  death 
had  set  her  free.  Yes,  Heaven  help  her,  she  was  free 
— at  last ! 

Aunt  Rachel  left  her  alone  in  the  garden,  and  Reine 
sat  down  on  one  of  the  benches  among  the  great  crim- 
son roses,  pale  and  trembling,  her  thoughts  in  the 
wildest  chaos. 

She  would  not  be  disloyal  to  Waldemar  Waldron 
even  in  thought.    She  tried  to  think  of  him  kindly 


192 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


and  of  his  best,  for  his  untimely  death  wiped  out  all 
the  keen  misery  he  had  ever  caused  her. 

How  long  she  sat  there  among  the  blossoms  she 
never  knew.  A  step  startled  her  at  length — a  step  that 
brought  the  warm  blood  to  her  cheek  and  a-  thrill  to 
her  heart — for  she  knew  it  was  Bernard's  step.  Before 
she  could  rise  to  meet  him  he  had  come  forward  and 
seated  himself  by  her  side,  imprisoning  the  little  white 
hand  that  lay  on  the  rustic  bench. 

Her  long,  curling  lashes  were  wet  with  tears,  and  he 
knew  what  brought  them  there. 

"  Let  me  teach  you  to  forget,  Reine,"  he  said, 
gently.  "  The  one  gift  I  ask  from  Heaven  is  the  right 
and  power  to  comfort  you,  clear.  Renew  the  promise 
you  once  made,  Reine,  and  my  happiness  will  be  com- 
plete. Be  my  wife.  No  barrier  stands  between  us. 
Give  me  the  heart  that  should  have  been  mine  long 
ago/' 

She  shrank  from  him  in  passionate  tears. 

"  No,  no,"  she  cried,  incoherently,  "  it  can  never  be 
■ — never!  I  must  be  true  to  his  memory, — nothing 
else  would  be  right." 

Is  this  my  reward  for  waiting  for  you  all  these 
weary  years  ?  "  he  exclaimed,  bitterly. 

"  Be  content — as  matters  are  now,  Bernard,"  she 
said  faintly;  "  everything  is  going  on  well." 

He  moved  nearer  her, — so  near  that  his  hot  breath 
scorched  her  cheek, — as  he  answered  steadily: — 

"Would  it  satisfy  you  to  live  forever,  like  this  ? — no 
nearer  to  me  than  you  are  now?  " 

It  seemed  to  Reine  his  fiery  eyes  burned  down  into 
the  very  depths  of  her  soul  as  he  asked  this  huskily, 
murmuring — "  Oh,  my  love — so  cold  and  cruel  !  " 

Reine  shivered  a  little,  her  face  paling. 

"Oh,  Bernard,"  she  faltered,  "  why  are  you  not 
content  ?  " 

"Why  am  I  not  content?  "he  interrogated  passion- 
ately, and  so  bitterly  that  he  quite  frightened  her. 
"  Because  I  am  not  made  of  marble — or  ice;  be- 
cause I  have  a  living,  human  heart  pulsing  in  my 
bosom  that  longs  for  love  returned, — a  soul  that  cries 
out  against  this  cruelty  of  being  so  near  you,  yet  held 


LIFE  OR  DEATH. 


193 


off  at  arms'  length.  I  love  you  so  well  that  I  must 
win  you,,  or  1  must  go  from  you.  I  have  borne  more 
than  a  man  should  bear.  Do  you  think  I  never  long  to 
clasp  your  hands  in  mine? — to  hear  you  whisper  tender 
words  to  me?" 

••I  do  not  know."  she  murmured. 

''  But  I  know,  Beine,  and  I  can  bear  the  torture  no 
longer  of  being  near  you  if  there  is  no  possibility  of 
winning  you.  I  am  neither  a  stick  nor  a  stone,  I  can 
readily  realize  all  the  poet  meant,  when  he  wrote  : 

"  '  A  man  had  given  all  other  bliss, 
And  all  his  worldly  wealth  for  this, 
To  waste  his  whole  heart  in  one  kiss 
Upon  her  perfect  lips.'  " 

A  thrill  shot  through  Reiue's  heart. — "  We  cannot  go 
on  dreaming  like  the  lotus-eaters  forever/'  he  con- 
tinued. 

"  All  the  dreaming-  is  broken  through  : 
Both  what  is  clone  and  undone  I  rue. 
Nothing  is  steadfast,'  nothing  is  true, 
But  your  love  for  me,  and  my  love  for  you, 
My  dearest,  dearest  heart! 

"  When  the  winds  are  loud,  when  the  winds  are  low, 
When  the  roses  come,  when  the  roses  go, 
One  thought,  one  feeling,  is  all  I  know, 
My  dearest,  dearest  heart  •  " 

Eeine  drew  a  long  breath.  How  could  she  with- 
stand his  ardent  pleading  when  her  heart  yearned  for 
him  so  strongly!  ••'Have  you  an  answer  for  me, 
Eeine?"  he  whispered. 

"1  am  not  worthy,  Bernard/''  she  faltered.  "I 
once  threw  away  your  love.  Would  you — could  you — 
trust  me  after  that  ?  " 

For  answer  he  raised  the  sweet  face  to  his  and  kissed 
away  the  pearly  tears,  murmuring  loving  words  over 
her. 

She  attempted  to  struggle  out  of  his  arms,  for  she 
saw  her  aunt  coming  down  the  path,  but  her  laughing, 
happy  lover  held  her  fast. 

When  Mrs.  Woodstock  saw  them,  she  knew  that  the 
13 


194 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


ardent  hope  of  her  life  was  to  be  realized,  yet  she 
could  not  refrain  from  crying  out,  with  many  a  ha  ! 
ha!  ha!— 

«  Why,  what  in  the  world  does  such  a  scene  as  this 
mean?  Bernard!  Reine!  explain  this  situation  at 
once/' 

"It  means,  dear  madam/'  said  the  happy  lover, 
proudly,  "that  my  long  devotion  and  deep  love  are  to 
be  rewarded  at  last.  Seine  has  promised  to  become 
my  wife/' 

"Thank  Heaven!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Woodstock,  fer- 
vently. "  I  have  always  said  God  brings  together  soon 
or  late,  the  hearts  he  intended  for  each  other/'  With 
these  words  she  left  them. 

The  hour  they  spent  sitting  side  by  side  on  the 
rustic  seat  by  the  murmuring  fountain,  building  bright 
air-castles  of  a  rosy  future,  was  the  happiest  they  were 
ever  to  know. 

How  great  is  the  wisdom  of  God  that  the  darf 
beyond  is  all  unknown  to  us  ! 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

e:  UNHAPPY  IS  THE  BRIDE  THE  RAIN  FALLS  ON." 

It  was  decided  at  length  that  the  marriage  should 
take  place  at  once.  Aunt  Rachel  demurred  greatly 
at  losing  her  niece  so  soon,  but  the  impulsive  lover 
declared  he  had  waited  altogether  too  long  for  his  bride 
already,  that  delays  were  dangerous,  and  he  must  claim 
Reine  at  once. 

He  could  hardly  restrain  his  impatience  at  the  time 
it  took  to  prepare  the  elegant  trousseau. 

The  grand  wedding  was  to  take  place  at  Mrs.  Wood- 
stock's new  villa  in  Richmond,  and  the  preparations 
were  going  on,  on  a  magnificent  scale. 

All  the  country  side  had  been  invited,  just  as  they 
had  been  invited  to  attend  that  other  wedding  so  long 
ago,  where  Bernard  Chesleigh  was  to  have  been  the 
happy  groom,  and  lovely,  golden-haired  Reine  the 
bride.  More  than  one  vaguely  wrondered  how  this  af- 
fair would  end. 

And  the  vague,  uneasy  speculations  grew  as  the  wed- 
ding day  drew  nigh,  and  heavy  storms,  which  were 
unusual  at  that  season  of  the  year,  set  in. 

At  length  the  day  before  the  grand  event  dawned, 
and  the  storm  increased  in  its  wild  fury,  showing  no 
signs  of  abating  on  the  morrow. 

Many  watched  the  fearful  warring  of  the  elements 
with  troubled  faces,  the  old  adage  recurring  to  them — 
"  Unhappy  is  the  bride  the  rain  falls  on." 

Reine  watched  the  scene  from  her  window  with 
smiling  lips.  The  storm  had  laid  the  roses  low  in  the 
garden.  The  trees  bent  earthward,  nearly  stripped  of 
their  green  foliage.  Still  Reine  smiled,  despite  her 
maid's  anxious  face. 

"  Signs  of  good  or  evil  omen  do  not  count  for 
195 


196 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


much,"  she  said.  "  I  have  no  faith  in  them.  My 
wedding  day  will  be  a  happy  one,  even  if  the  sun  does 
refuse  to  shine." 

"The  Lord  grant  it,"  replied  the  maid,  fervently. 

"  I  shall  not  need  you  any  more  to-night,"  said 
Eeine,  pleasantly,  although  it  was  only  dusk.  "Come 
to  me  early  to-morrow  morning,  Amy." 

The  girl  courtesied  and  left  her  young  mistress. 
Ah  me!  How  little  she  dreamed  under  what  thrilling 
scenes  she  was  to  pass,  and  what  tragic  events  were  to 
transpire  ere  she  looked  upon  Reine's  face  again. 

Keine  drew  the  heavy  silken  curtains,  and  turned 
away  from  the  window,  for  it  had  grown  dark  while 
she  stood  there. 

"  To-morrow  is  my  wedding  day,"  she  murmured, 
uncoiling  her  long  golden  hair  before  the  mirror,  and 
running  her  slim  white  fingers  through  its  luxurious 
masses.  (i  How  kind  Heaven  is  to  me  to  let  me  be 
happy  with  my  love  at  last." 

The  words  had  scarcely  died  on  her  lips  ere  a  para- 
graph in  a  crumpled  bit  of  newspaper  lying  on  the 
mantel  caught  her  eye,  and  held  her  spell-bound. 

For  one  moment  the  darkness  of  death  seemed  to 
enfold  her.  Her  heart  almost  seemed  to  cease  beating, 
and  stand  still.  The  wild-rose  bloom  faded  from  her 
cheeks  like  a  pale  blossom  Li  the  lightning's  blast.  The 
light  died  from  her  blue  eyes,  and  the  joy  from  her  heart. 

Slowly,  steadily,  she  put  out  her  poor,  white  hands 
and  grasped  the  bit  of  paper,  sinking  down  upon  the 
nearest  seat,  and  smoothing  it  out  over  her  knee. 

One  instant  a  hot  gush  of  tears  blinded  her  eyes,  but 
she  brushed  them  away,  bending  her  burning  eyes  on 
the  printed  page. 

There  were  but  a  few  lines,  but  they  were  a  death - 
knell  to  a  human  heart — death  in  life. 

Like  one  who  has  received  a  dagger-thrust  in  the 
heart,  she  read  the  cruel  words;  and  each  letter  seemed 
branded  on  her  brain  in  letters  of  scorching  fire.  It 
read  as  follows: 

"  We  are  pleased  to  announce  that  the  story  of  the  tragic 
death  of  Waldemar  Waldron,  the  young  heir  of  the  Towers, 


"UXHAPPY  IS  THE  BRIDE  THE  EAIX  FALLS  ON."  19? 


which  went  the  rounds  of  the  press  some  time  since,  is  entirely 
without  foundation.  Instead  of  meeting  death  in  the  sea 
waves  which  carried  him  out  from  shore,  he  clung  to  the 
wreck  of  a  spar;  and  was  picked  up  by  an  outward  bound  ves- 
sel bound  for  a  foreign  coast.  After  a  long  and  tedious  illness 
he  set  sail  once  more  for  his  native  land,  and  will  arrive  at  his 
estate  in  Virginia — YTaldron  Towers — to-day.  accompanied  by  a 
party  of  friends." 

Alive!  Heine  crushed  back  her  misery— trying  to 
thank  God  his  life  had  been  spared — but  the  words 
died  on  her  lips  in  a  moan. 

She  looked  at  the  date  of  the  paper — it  was  that 
evening's.  In  the  excitement  of  the  preparation  for 
the  morrow's  wedding  no  one  had  thought  of  taking- 
time  to  read  it,  and  consequently  it  had  become  torn. 

Could  it  be  that  a  mistake  had  been  made  ?  She 
buried  her  death-cold  face  in  her  trembling  hands, 
with  a  bitter,  gasping  sob. 

To-morrow  was  to  have  been  her  wedding-day.  She 
was  to  have  been  married  to  the  man  she  loved.  Had 
Heaven  swept  them  apart  by  an  insurmountable  barrier 
— a  second  time  ? 

"  I  cannot,  I  will  not  believe  it.  I  will  go  myself  to 
Waldron  Towers  and  see  if  it  be  true.    If  it  is — " 

Heaven  forgive  her  the  thought  that  crept  into  her 
heart — she  was  so  sorely  tried. 

What  mattered  it  to  hes  that  the  storm  raged  out- 
side with  demon  like  fury?  Her  very  soul  was  burn- 
ing with  a  fever  of  unrest.  She  must  know  the  truth 
ere  the  light  of  the  morrow  dawned,  or  the  suspense 
would  drive  her  mad. 

The  house  was  wrapped  in  a  mantle  of  gloom  and 
darkness  as  the  slender  figure,  heavily  cloaked  and 
veiled,  crept  noiselessly  down  the  stairway. 

A  small  revolver,  belonging  to  one  of  the  servants, 
had  been  carelessly  left  on  the  velvet  divan  in  the  mar- 
ble corridor. 

Only  Heaven  could  have  foretold  the  impulse  that 
caused  the  poor  girl  to  thrust  it  into  the  pocket  of  her 
long  cloak.  Reine  had  left  a  little  tear-blotted  note 
for  Bernard — enclosing  the  paragraph,  and  telling  him 
where  she  had  gone. — believing  it  would  not  be  found 
until  the  next  morning. 


198 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


Silently  as  a  shadow  she  stole  out  into  the  bitter 
storm. 

She  took  the  night  train,  and,  to  her  consternation, 
found,  when  she  was  fairly  on  her  way,  that  the  express 
made  no  stoppages  until  it  reached  the  cross-roads. 
No  doubt  she  could  find  a  stage  there  to  take  her  to 
Dover,  upon  whose  outskirts  lay  the  Waldron  estate. 

Trembling  with  excitement  and  fatigue,  Reine 
alighted  from  the  express  at  the  cross-roads.  And 
this,  dear  reader,  brings  us  back  to  the  opening  chapter 
of  our  story — to  that  memorable  ride  of  a  young  girl 
on  the  mountain  road  through  the  terrible  storm. 

When  Reine  alighted  from  the  mail  coach  at  the 
gates  of  the  Towers,  her  heart  gave  a  strange  throb. 
She  saw  that  the  house  was  brilliantly  lighted,  and  the 
sound  of  music  floated  out  to  her  over  the  wild  warring 
of  the  pitiless  storm. 

Silently  as  a  shadow  she  crept  up  the  marble  porch 
and  gazed  through  the  lace-draped  window. 

One  quick,  startled  glance,  then  a  cry  that  was 
hardly  human,  fell  from  her  white  lips. 

She  saw  Waldemar  Waldron,  standing  in  the  middle 
of'  the  spacious  drawing-room,  handsome,  smiling,  gay 
as  ever,  and  by  his  side,  clinging  to  his  arm,  was  a  young 
and  lovely  girl. 

Reine  turned  away  sick  »at  heart.  She  could  not 
censure  Heaven  that  his  life  had  been  spared.  She 
could  not  wish  that  he  had  died  in  the  dark  waters 
that  night.  But,  oh,  the  pity  of  it!  the  pity  of  it!  he 
had  spoiled  her  life. 

To-morrow  was  to  have  been  her  wedding-day.  She 
was  to  have  married  the  man  she  loved.  And  now,  it 
was  all  over.  Bernard  and  she,  who  loved  each  other 
so  fondly,  must  now  part.  They  were  separated  more 
cruelly  than  if  one  of  them  lay  in  the  grave. 

Waldemar  Waldron  had  deserted  her,  fled  from  her 
wilfully,  left  her  ill  and  penniless  among  strangers. 
It  was  not  likely  he  would  seek  her  out  now.  Still,  he 
was  her  husband.  The  fatal  marriage  bond,  forged  in 
a  moment  of  thoughtless  folly, -bound  her  to  him  while 
her  life  lasted. 

Life!    How  could  she  endure  it,  separated  from  the 


"  UXHAPPY  IS  THE  BRIDE  THE  RAIN  FALLS  OX."  199 

>ne  love  of  her  heart,  whom  she  was  to  have  wedded  on 
:he  morrow?    Better  death  than  that. 

The  thought,  born  of  frenzy  and  despair,  came  to 
her  with  a  sudden  shock.  Xothing  could  ever  release 
her  from  the  fetters  that  galled  her  so,  save — death. 
Ah,  why  shouldn't  she  die  and  end  it  all? 

Involuntarily,  her  trembling  hands  sought  the  pearl 
and  silver  revolver  which  would  furnish  the  way  and 
means. 

The  poor,  misguided  girl  raised  her  white  face  to  the 
dark  night  skies. 

In  her  anguish  she  did  not  heed  the  warning  voice  of 
conscience.  She  forgot  everything  save  her  supreme 
misery,  and  her  one  yearning  desire  to  end  it  all,  then 
and  there.  When  morning  dawned  she  would  be  the 
pale,  cold  bride  of  death. 

One  moment  she  leaned  heavily  against  the  frame- 
work of  the  long  French  window,  her  white  lips  parted 
in  the  tremulous  word,  Si  Forgive!  "  The  next  instant 
there  was  the  clear.,  ringing  report  of  a  revolver.  But 
the  fatal  bullet,  owing  to  the  unsteadiness  of  her 
hand,  missed  its  mark  wide,  and  instead  of  piercing 
the  white  breast  of  its  victim,  crashed  through  the 
plate  glass  window,  whirred  over  the  heads  of  the 
panic-stricken  guests,  and  buried  itself  in  the  opposite 
wall. 

And  at  that  instant,  as  their  gaze  was  riveted  to  the 
window,  they  caught  a  fleeting  glimpse  of  a  white, 
terror-stricken  face,  framed  in  dishevelled  golden  hair; 
but,  swiftly  as  a  shadow,  it  was  lost  to  view  in  the 
darkness  and  storm  of  the  terrible  night. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 


MYSTERY  AND  WOE. 

In  an  instant  the  wildest  confusion  prevailed  at  the 
Towers,  and,  despite  the  fury  of  the  storrn>  the  gentle- 
men dashed  from  the  drawing-room  out  on  to  the 
porch  in  search  of  the  beautiful,  desperate,  golden- 
haired  young  girl  whose  terror-stricken  face  had  been 
seen  at  the  window. 

The  foremost  of  them  nearly  stumbled  over  the 
prostrate  form  of  a  woman  lying,  face  downward, 
among  the  wet  grass. 

Despite  their  belief  that  the  bullet  must  have  been 
intended  for  some  one  of  the  party  in  the  drawing- 
room,  they  raised  the  cowering  form  with  tender  hands, 
and  bore  her  into  the  marble  corridor,  and  laid  her 
down  on  a  velvet  divan. 

Reine  had  not  swooned,  she  struggled,  up  to  her 
feet  like  a  hunted  deer  driven  at  bay,  still  holding  the 
veil  closely  down  over  her  face,  which  shielded  her 
from  recognition. 

"  I — 1  did  not  mean  the  bullet  for  any  of  you,"  she 
cried,  incoherently.  "I  meant  it  for  myself.  I 
wanted  to  die  and  end  it  all." 

"  Why,  was  life  so  distasteful  to  you?"  asked  a  fair- 
haired  young  man,  pityingly. 

"  You  ask  me  that,  Waldemar  Waldron?"  she  cried 
quivering  with  intense  excitement  and  passion.  "  You 
ask  me  that? — you  who  have  spoiled  and  wrecked  my 
life?" 

She  drew  back  and  looked  at  him  with  bitter  scorn, 
clenching  her  little  white  hands  together,  her  eyes 
blazing  like  blue  fires,  even  through  the  thick  veil 

"There  is  evidently  a  strange  mistake  here,"  he  said 
quickly,    "  I  a,m  not  Waldemar  Waldron;  I  am  Clar- 

200 


MYSTERY  AXD  WOE. 


201 


euce  AYaldron,  his  younger  brother.  The  likeness  be- 
tween us  is  said  to  be  striking.  Am  I  right  in  sun- 
posing  you  have  mistaken  me  for  him?" 

"Not  AValdemar  Waldron!"  Eeine  murmured, 
brokenly.  "Am  I  mad  or  dreaming?  or  are  my  senses 
playing  me  false?  " 

Like  a  flash,  a  sudden  thought  occurred  to  the 
young  man. 

"My  friends. "  he  said  gravely,  turning  to  those 
about  him,  "  will  you  kindly  leave  me  alone  with  this 
young  woman?    There  is  a  grave  mystery  here." 

Intense  as  their  excitement  was,  there  was  nothing 
else  for  them  to  do  but  readily  acquiesce  to  their  host's 
request. 

He  closed  the  door  carefully  after  them  and  wheeled 
suddenly  around,  facing  Reine. 

"I  see  it  all  now,"  he  exclaimed,  excitedly:  "You 
are  the  young  lady  whom  my  hapless  brother  wedded, 
and — Heaven  pardon  him  for  it — deserted — " 

"  Hold — hear  me  through,"  he  added,  as  Reine 
nodded  in  the  affirmative  and  attempted  to  speak. 
"This  matter  is  quite  clear  to  me;  I  see  through  this 
whole  matter  quite  plainly.  You,  the  deserted  wife  of 
my  poor,  unhappy  brother,  saw  the  paragraph  in  this 
afternoon's  paper,  and,  of  course,  believed  it.  Part  of 
the  statements  made  by  the  reporter  were  quite  true, 
others  sadly  mixed  up.  It  was  true,  Waldron  did  not 
die  in  the  waves  on  the  Florida  coast:  he  was  picked 
up  by  an  outward-bound  vessel  and  was  landed  in 
China,  ill  unto  death.  It  was  long  months  before  the 
ravages  of  fever  left  him,  and  he  was  able  to  set  sail 
for  home;  and  on  that  homeward-bound  steamei%  the 
first  persons  whom  he  saw,  upon  coming  up  on  deck, 
were  my  bride  and  myself  with  a  party  of  friends. 
The  second  day  out,  my  brother  confessed  to  me  the 
whole  story  of  his  misspent  life  ;  I  came  here  to  take 
possession  of  the  Towers  with  my  bride  and  requested 
that  all  the  neighbors  hereabouts  should  be  invited 
here  to  meet  us.  Through  my  perfect  resemblance  to 
my  brother  Waldemar,  I  was  taken  for  him  by  those 
who  saw  me  drive  up  from  the  station.  It  did  not  take 
long  however,  to  explain  the  situation,  when  my  curi- 


202 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


ous,  wondering  guests  arrived.  A  pretty  mess  these 
papers  have  made  of  it,  to  be  sure.  Waldemar  will  be 
here  to-night.    I  am  expecting  him  every  moment.". 

Eeine  listened  to  the  strange  recital  with  speechless 
amazement.  Waldemar  really  not  dead!  and  this  his 
younger  brother!  No  wonder  the  newspaper  reporter 
who  had  made  such  a  strange  blunder  had  been  de- 
ceived by  the  close  resemblance  between  the  brothers. 

But  now  that  Eeine  observed  him  more  closely,  she 
saw  many  points  wherein  he  differed  from  Waldemar. 

There  was  a  hasty  step  in  the  corridor  outside,  that 
both  of  them  recognized. 

"  Ah,  here  is  Waldemar  now! "  his  brother  exclaimed, 
adding  hastily,  "I  will  leave  you  alone  together  to 
settle  your  differences." 

Reine  would  have  detained  him,  but  he  hurried  from 
the  apartment,  and,  an  instant  later  an  opposite  door 
was  flung  open  and  Waldemar  Waldron  stood  on  the 
threshold,  with  glowering  eyes — red  and  bloodshot — 
even  at  the  distance  he  was  standing,  the  horrible  odor 
of  rum  reached  her. 

For  a  moment  Reine  was  stricken  dumb,  a  terrible 
sound  filled  her  ears,  flashes  of  red,  glaring  light 
seemed  to  play  before  her  vision,  but  through  it  all, 
she  raised  her  terrified  eyes  to  the  harsh,  mocking  face 
before  her. 

"Well,"  he  cried,  harshly,  "you  have  led  me  a 
pretty  dance,  haven't  you?"  and,  as  he  spoke  he 
banged  the  door  after  him,  and  strode  up  to  her,  and  a 
hand,  hard  and  heavy,  clutched  her  white  arm,  hissing 
in  her  ear: 

"  I  have  just  heard  how  you  came  here,  and  fired  in 
among  the  crowd.  I  knew  that  the  heavily  veiled 
woman  they  were  all  talking  so  excitedly  about  was 
you.  What  did  you  do  it  for,  I  say!  Did  you  mistake 
my  brother  Clarence,  who  was  standing  there,  for  me 
and  attempt  to  pop  him  over,  thinking  it  would  rid 
you  forever  of  me?" 

"  Waldemar,"  she  murmured,  faintly,  "  hear  me;  I 
— I — never  meant  to  fire  into  the  room  among  those 
people — I — I — well  I  may  as  well  tell  you  the  truth," 
she  said,  desperately:  "  I  did  take  your  brother  for  you, 


MYSTERY  AXD  WOE. 


203\ 


and  I  determined  to  kill  myself  to  end  it  all."  As 
she  uttered  the  words,  no  cry  fell  from  her  white  lips; 
although  the  grip  of  the  hard,  steely  hand  that  grasped 
her  arm,  grew  cruelly  harder  each  moment  to  bear.  • 

A  sneering  laugh  broke  from  his  lips,  a  laugh  hor- 
rible to  hear. 

"  When  you  ran  away  from  me  you  thought  I  should 
never  be  able  to  find  you,  did  yon"  he  cried,  taunt- 
ingly. 

"  You  left  me,  TValdemar,"  she  corrected. 

"It's  a  lie! "  he  cried,  brutally,  giving  vent  to  such 
a  volley  of  horrible  oaths,  that  Seine's  heart  seemed  to 
die  within  her.  She  shrank  back  from  him,  coweringly. 

"  It's  a  lie! 99  he  repeated,  fiercely,  and  you  know 
it.  I  only  wrote  that  letter  to  frighten  you  into  getting 
some  money  from  the  old  man,  or  from  somewhere  else 
— it  didn't  matter  much  where.  I  stayed  away  three 
days  to  bring  you  to  your  senses,  and  when  I  came 
back  you  were  gone;  glad  of  the  excuse  no  doubt,  and 
ever  since  I  have  been  searching  for  you,  and  you  have 
led  me  a  pretty  dance  of  it,  I  say." 

"I  did  not  know,  TValdemar,"  she  murmured, 
faintly. 

"Do  you  think  I'm  fool  enough  to  believe  that?  "  he 
cried,  fiercely. 

"It  is  the  truth,  Waldemar,"  she  said. 

"And  there's  another  affair  that  came  to  my  ears  as 
I  was  coming  up  the  mountain  pass;  the  report  of  my 
death,  which  you  have  circulated,  and  last  but  not 
least,  that  you  were  about  to  marry  Bernard  Chesleigh 
— curse  him — is  it  true?    Answer  me!" 

,fWe  were  to  have  been  married  to-morrow,"  she 
replied,  falteringly,  "  but  when  I  found  you  were  alive, 
and  supposed  to  be  here,  I  came  here'too." 

"  To  put  me  out  of  the  way,"  he  interrupted:  and 
again  he  broke  into  such  a  volley  of  horrible  oaths 
Reine  was  fairly  electrified.  He  seemed  to  not  stop 
to  catch  breath  until  he  had  exhausted  his  whole  vo- 
cabulary. 

"Don't,"  she  cried  faintly;  "you  are  killing  me, 
Waldemar;  "  but  her  remonstrance  only  made  him  all 
the  worse.  He  stopped  at  length  through  sheer  exhaus- 


204 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE. 


tion,  for  a  moment,  and  in  that  moment  the  doot 
was  suddenly  opened  again  and  Bernard  Chesleigh, 
with  a  face  white  as  death,  stepped  into  the  room. 

It  was  Reine  to  whom  he  turned,  ignoring  Waldron's 
presence  altogether. 

"I  had  your  note,"  he  said,  simply,  "  and  I  could 
scarcely  credit  what  you  said  was  true;  1  believed 
there  was  some  terrible  mistake,  Reine,  and  followed 
you  here  in  all  haste  to  see  if  what  you  wrote  were 
possible." 

The  saddest  cry  that  ever  fell  from  human  lips 
broke  from  Reined,  With  an  almost  superhuman 
effort  she  wrenched  herself  from  the  detaining  hold 
of  Waldron's  steel-like  hand  and  flew  like  a  wounded 
bird  that  has  the  arrow  in  death  in  its  heart,  to  Ber- 
nard Chesleigh's  arms,  clasping  him  with  her  white 
arms  as  though  nothing  but  death  should  loosen  her 
clinging  hold  and  part  her  from  him. 

"  Bernard,  my  love,  save  me  from  him,"  she  gasped. 
"  Oh,  save  me  from  him,  or  kill  me  with  your  own 
dear  hands."  ' 

Before  Bernard  could  answer,  Waldemar  Waldron 
had  torn  her  white  arms  from  his  neck,  thrust  her 
back  and  stepped  between  them.  Waldron  had  pushed 
her  so  roughly  that  she  had  fallen  backward,  at  Ber- 
nard's feet. 

Bernard  sprung  forward  to  raise  her — a  low  cry 
breaking  from  his  lips. 

"Do  not  touch  her,  do  not  dare  to  touch  her,  Ber- 
nard Chesleigh,"  he  cried,  in  a  voice  of  thunder; 
"  she  is  my  wife  !  " 

"Just  this  once,"  implored  Bernard,  "let  me  raise 
her  in  my  arms  and  whisper  one  poor  word  of  com- 
fort  to  her,  we  have  loved  each  other  so  well,  and  on 
the  morrow,"  he  sa,id  huskily,  "  she  was  to  have  been 
— my  wife, — I  know  she  is  yours;  I  am  not  going  to 
dispute  your  right.  Let  me  raise  her  just  this  once 
and  look  into  the  face  that  has  been  heaven  on  earth 
to  me,  then  I  will  go  quietly  away." 

"Stand  back  !  lay  your  hands  upon  even  one  hair 
of  her  head  and  1  will  kill  you,"  cried  Waldron,  his 
fear  fairly  purple  with  rage.    "  You  have  stolen  Reine's 


MYSTERY  AXD  WOE. 


heart  from  me,  and  I  curse  you  for  it — curse  your  low, 
smooth,  winning  ways  and  proud,  aristocratic  face. 
But  for  yon  she  would  be  willing  enough  to  go  back 
home  to  Xew  York  with  me.  No  doubt  you  would 
like  me  to  give  her  up  to  you,"  he  sneered,*  but  with- 
out waiting  for  Chesleigh  to  utter  the  words  that  were 
on  his  lips,  he  added  : 

"Know  this,  that  I  do  not  love  her,  I  never  loved 
her.  I  hate  her  with  the  bitterest  hate — for  her  white 
face,  tearful  eyes,  and  moping  ways — yes,  I  hate  her, 
but  she  will  go  with  me  all  the  same.  It  will  be  a 
glorious  revenge  to  me  anyhow,  to  know  that  I  have 
wrested  her  from  you,  Bernard  Chesleigh.  Xo  matter 
how  she  may  shrink  from  me,  she  must  go  with  me:  I 
am  her  lord  and  master,''  he  cried}  boisterously. 

She  had  straggled  to  her  feet,  poor,  beautiful,  hap- 
less Heine.  Her  white  face  was  turned  to  Bernard, 
oh.  so  pathetically  lovely  in  its  terrible  woe!  and  a 
voice,  tragic  in  its  despair,  cried  faintly — 

"  Must  I  leave  you,  Bernard — oh,  must  I  leave  you, 
love,  and  go  out  with  him  into  the  bitterness  of  death?" 

"  Certainly,"  retorted  AValdron,  frowning  darkly; 
"  what. need  to  answer  such  a  question.  You  are  to 
go  with  me— your  husband,  certainly/3 

Still  she  looked  at  Bernard  in  her  piteous  despair. 

"  Are  you  quite  sure  I  should  go  with  him,  Bernard?  " 
she  repeated.    "  Ah,  it  would  kiil  me,  my  love." 

"  Dare  to  speak  to  him  like  that  again  at  your 
peril,"''  foamed  Waldron  furiously.  "  I  am  sure  that  you 
are  to  go  with  me  whether  he  is  or  not.  He  will  do 
-well  to  not  interfere  between  us." 

Poor  Reine!  her  heart  died  within  her  when  Ber- 
nard's head  drooped  and  a  heavy  sigh  of  anguish  broke 
from  his  lips.  Then,  poor  child,  she  knew  there  was  no 
hope  for  her,  Without  another  word  she  fell  prone  on 
her  face  among  the  lilies  of  the  carpet  in  a  deep  swoon. 

If  he  must  leave  her,  better  that  he  should  leave  her 
now.  Bernard  told  himself.  "  Good  by,  my  lost  love," 
he  murmured,  letting  his  eyes  linger  for  an  instant  on 
the  white  face  lying  there  so  cold  and  still,  and  with  a 
sudden  movement,  knelt  down  and  kissed  the  spot  her 
feet  had  so  lately  pressed,  then  tore  himself  away. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 


THE  WAGES  OF  SIN  IS  DEATH. 

The  carriage  which  had  brought  Bernard  Chesleigh 
to  the  Towers  stood  at  the  entrance  gate.  He  sprung 
into  the  vehicle,  saying  hoarsely  to  the  driver, 

"  Take  me  back  to  the  station  at  the  cross-roads. 
When  does  the  next  train  pass  that  goes  to  New 
York?" 

"At  midnight,  sir,"  replied  the  man;  "but  it 
doesn't  stop,  sir." 

"  I  suppose  it  can  be  nagged  and  made  to  stop," 
said  Bernard. 

S(  Oh,  yes,  sir,"  answered  the  man,  "  it  has  been 
done,  but  it's  rather  uncommon." 

How  he  passed  the  time  after  he  had  reached  the 
station  until  the  train  came  in,  Chesleigh  never  knew: 
for  some  time  he  was  like  a  man  bereft  of  reason. 

Once,  the  thought  had  come  to  him,  as  he  stood 
looking  gloomily  through  the  narrow  window,  how  easy 
it  would  be  for  him  to  end  his  sorrow  ther%^nd  then, 
by  flinging  himself  headlong  down  the  deep  mountain 

forge  into  the  ravine  below;  but  the  next  moment  his 
etter  judgment  had  reasserted  itself;  such  an  act  as 
he  had  contemplated  would  be  cowardly,  and  only 
cowards  had  recourse  to  such  a  way  out  of  difficulty  as 
that.  No,  he  would  live;  he  knew  he  should  never 
know  what  happiness  was  again;  it  would  be  a  dead 
letter  for  him  forever  after.  Ah,  what  grand  and  noble 
words  the  poet  had  uttered  when  he  had  said, 

"  It  is  better  to  live,  and  learn  to  forget." 

He  would  keep  those  words  ever  before  him. 

He  knew  that  time  might  blunt  the  keen  edge  of 
his  grief;  but  forget  her,  ah,  he  could  never  do  that, 
go  where  he  might;  her  face  would  be  always  before 
him.    He  had  won  Heine's  love,  too  late, 

206 


THE  WAGES  OF  STCf  TS  DEATH". 

ee  I  ask  from  heaven  what  I  have  done  that  I  sho, 
be  so  cruelly  punished,"  he  ruminated  bitterly,  as  i 
paced  up  and  down  the  narrow  waiting  room.  Bui 
from  the  darkling  heavens  to  which  he  appealed,  there 
came  no  reply. 

"  Some  men  meet  with  a  cruel  fate,"  he  mused,  "  but 
they  deserve  it.  In  my  life  I  may  not  have  done  much 
good,  but  I  have  done  no  great  harm.  I  have  com- 
mitted no  crime — yet,  never  since  the  world  began, 
has  a  man's  life  been  so  wretchedly  wrecked  as  mine, 
and  happiness  so  near  me  twice." 

From  afar  off  he  heard  the  shriek  of  the  midnight 
express, — in  a  few  moments  more  it  had  flashed  around 
the  curve  of  the  mountain  and  stood  panting  and 
quivering  like  a  thing  of  life  before  the  station. 

Chesleigh  boarded  it  and  sank  into  a  seat,  but  instead 
of  rushing  on  after  a  moment  or  so,  it  still  stood 
upon  the  track  whistling  shrilly. 

One  or  two  of  the  impatient  passengers  started  out 
to  learn  the  cause  and  reported  that  the  down  express 
was  some  twenty  minutes  late  and  that  the  train 
would  have  to  wait  there  at  the  cross-roads  probably 
some  twenty  minutes  or  more. 

"I  have  known  a  train  that  was  late  to  cause  no  end 
of  disaster^from  one  end  of  the  line  to  the  other," 
grumbled  a  commercial  traveller  sitting  back  of  Ches- 
leigh. But  Bernard  paid  little  heed  to  these  remarks, 
and  the  fellow  traveller  rather  piqued  at  his  neighbor's 
silence,  sauntered  off  into  the  smoking-car,  leaving 
that  portion  of  the  train  in  which  Chesleigh  sat,  quite 
without  occupant  other  than  himself. 

"Reine,"  he  murmured,  "it  is  hard  to  give  }*ou  up, 
but  alas, — " 

The  sentence  never  was  finished, — the  door  of  the 
car  was  flung  suddenly  open  and  Reine — ves,  it  was 
surely  Reine,  sprang  into  it. 

At  the  first  glance  she  beheld  Chesleigh  and  in  an 
instant  she  was  kneeling  before  him. 

There  was  no  mistake,  he  was  neither  mad  nor 
dreaming,  it  was  Reine,  kneeling  at  his  feet,  her  long 
dark  cloak  dripping  with  rain  and  bespattered  with 
mud  thrown  about  her — her  head  uncovered,  her  long 


208 


A  FORBIDDEN"  MARRIAGE. 


golden  hair,  wet  and  dishevelled,  hanging  all  about  her 
white  terrified  face,  and  ner  hands  clenched  tightly 
over  her  heart  that  beat  with  great  strangling,  spas- 
modic throbs. 

"  Bernard/'  she  cried,  shrinking  clown  at  his  feet, 
clasping  his  knees  and  looking  up  into  his  face  with 
great,  terrified,  dilated  eyes;  "save  me, — oh,  Bernard, 
take  me  with  you,  dear,  anywhere — anywhere;  save 
me,  Bernard! " 

"Heine,  my  poor  child!  "he  exclaimed;  "  tell  me, 
dear,  what  does  this  mean?" 

A  laugh  that  was  more  horrible  to  hear  than  the 
crudest  sob  could  have  been,  broke  from  her  lips. 

"It  means,"  she  cried  wildly,  ".that  he  tried  to 
murder  me,  Bernard,  after  you  had  left  me  with  him. 
When  I  woke  to  consciousness  from  my  swoon,  I  saw 
him  standing  by  the  mantel;  he  had  not  even  sum- 
moned help  for  me,  and  he  did  not  know  whether  I  was 
dying  or  not. 

"I  saw  him  standing  there  drinking  brandy  from  a 
flask  he  carried  about  him.  He  was  bad  enough  when 
you  saw  him;  he  is  a  fiend  incarnate  now. 

"  As  I  struggled  to  my  feet  he  approached  me,  hurl- 
ing me  back  on  my  knees.  'Stay  there!'  he  cried, 
with  a  demoniac  laugh;  'stay  where  you  are,  and  say 
your  prayers  if  you  know  any,  for  your  time  has  come 
to  die!  I  will  show  you  how  I  deal  with  those  who  are 
faithless  to  me/  and  with  that,  and  before  I  could  cry 
out  for  help  he  struck  me  and  whipped  out  a  revolver, 
and  holding  it  close  to  my  heart— fired.  It  was  so 
near  the  fire  burned  my  arm,  Bernard,  but  his  hand 
was  unsteady,  and  the  murderous  ball  crashed  wide  of 
its  mark. 

"  Terror  lent  me  strength.  With  a  scream  I  sprang 
to  my  feet,  and  clashed  precipitately  through  the  open 
French  window  out  in  the  storm  and  the  night.  He 
pursued  me,  with  cries  of  rage,  firing  right  and  left. 
The  brandy  had  driven  ham  into  a  frenzy;  he  was  like 
notlrjng  human. 

"  I  thought  you  had  come  to  the  station  to  take  the 
train,  and  I  ran  here  every  step  of  the  way.  Oh,  save 
me,  Bernard^  for  the  love  of  Heaven!  Let  me  stay  with 


THE  WAGES  OF  SIN"  IS  DEATH. 


209 


you,  dear;  if  he  finds  me,  he  will  kill  me!"  and  the 
words  died  away  with  a  bitter  wailing  cry  of  mortal 
fear. 

Bernard  Chesleigh  was  so  filled  with  horror  and  dis- 
may that  the  very  power  of  speech  seemed  to  have  de- 
serted him. 

"  See,  Bernard,"  she  sobbed,  holding  up  her  white 
arm  to  him,  "  there  is  where  the  powder  burned  me, 
and  here," — flinging  back  her  rain  drenched  cloak, — 
"  there  is  where  the  fire  burned  my  dress — right  over 
my  heart;  see,  Bernard!" 

It  was  more  than  mortal  man  could  bear.  Surely 
Heaven  could  find  pardon  for  him,  that  in  that 
moment  he  lost  all  self-restraint.  His  calm  reason, 
his  better  judgment,  his  nobler  self,  all  had  vanished. 
He  only  heard  her  words, — "  Take  me  cway  with  you, 
Bernard,  if  he  finds  me  he  will  kill  me! " 

"  I  will  take  you  away,  Reine,"  he  cried,  breaking 
the  clinging  clasp  of  the  white  hands  that  clung  round 
his  knees,  and  drawing  her  to  a  seat  by  his  side,  and 
holding  the  poor  shivering  girl  close.  "  He  has 
brought  the  last  tear  to  your  eyes — you  shall  not  stay 
here — you  shall  not  be  the  victim  of  a  madman. 
Your  very  heart  is  crushed.  I  will  save  you.  We  will 
go  so  far  that  no  one  who  has  ever  known  ns  will  look 
upon  our  'faces  again.  You  shall  know  nothing  but 
love  and  happiness  all  the  rest  of  your  life.  We  will  fly 
to  the  other  end  of  the  world  together,  and  live  only 
for  love  and  each  other." 

Ten  minutes  before,  he  would  as  soon  have  thought 
of  shooting  himself  as  to  ask  Reine  to  fly  with  him  to 
escape  her  husband;  for,  no  matter  what  the  man  was, 
lie  was  still — 'her  husband. 

Now  that  Bernard's  passionate  nature  was  in  the 
ascendancy,  it  seemed  to  him  that  to  rescue  her  from 
this  tyrant  was  a  right  thing  to  do.  He  had  a  most 
chivalrous  feeling  for  women;  a  woman's  tears  were 
to  him  irresistible,  and  while  she  clung  to  him  with 
trembling  hands  and  he  was  protesting  to  her  that  she 
should  never  regret  coming  with  him,  slowly  the  train 
moved  out;  another  instant  and  it  was  whirling  along 
at  a  terrific  rate  of  speed  on  through  the  storm  and 
14 


A  FORBIDDEN  MARRIAGE, 

darkness  of  the  night.  But  all  in  a  moment  as  the 
train  had  moved  out,  Bernard  Chesleigh  began  to 
realize  what  he  had  done.  Great  Heaven!  he,  who  had 
always  been  the  very  soul  of  honor,  had  done  so  das- 
tardly a  thing  as  to  fly  with  another  man's  wife  ;  what 
had  he  been  thinking  of! 

Let  you  who  read — and  who  draw  back  in  horror, 
sitting  in  judgment  upon  their  actions — even  though 
you  censure,  remember,  it  is  said  : — 

"  To  err  is  but  human." 


But  of  what  use  wrere  regrets  now?  "Why  startle 
Heine — who  was  still  clinging  to  him  with  hands  trem- 
bling with  fear?  There  was  no  returning — they  had 
burned  their  bridges  behind  them. 

"  Are  you  content,  Reine?"  he  asked,  slowly, — 
huskily. 

Ci  Yes,  Bernard,"  she  sighed.  He  clasped  her  closer, 
and  soon,  despite  all  the  cold  and  the  chill  of  her  gar- 
ments she  sank  to  sleep  like  a  child  in  his  arms. 

"  Poor  Reine,"  he  murmured  compassionately. 
"  Heaven  have  mercy  on  us  both." 

He  sat  quite  still,  trying  to  think  out  what  their 
future  should  be.  The  angels  in  Heaven  who  had 
watched  iu  all,  and  wept  over  poor  Reine,  had  marked 
out  that  future. 

How  long  they  sat  thus,  Bernard  Chesleigh  could 
never  afterward  quite  fully  recall — the  train  whirled 
on  past  hills  and  dales  and  leaping  rivulets — on  and 
on  rushed  the  lightning  express — on  with  a  terrible 
roar  until  it  reached  a  high  bridge  that  spanned  a  dark, 
deep  ravine — and  then — 

There  was  a  horriSle  crash,  a  quiver,  a  sudden  blind- 
ing light  flashed  through  the  car  for  an  instant, — and 
in  that  instant  the  engine  plunged  down  through  the 
bridge — down  the  steep  height  to  the  dark  vine- 
wreathed  valley  below.  Then  came  oblivion  to  Ber- 
nard Chesleigh. 

It  was  many  a  long  day  after  when  Bernard  Ches- 
leigh awoke  to  a  realization  of  what  was  transpiring 
around  him. 


THE  WAGES  OF  SIX  IS  DEATH.  f 

He  found  himself  in  a  small,  unfamiliar  room^  wu 
strange  faces  bending  over  him. 

"  Where  am  I  ?"  he  asked,  faintly.  But  before  the 
good  woman  could  answer,  a  cry  of  anguish  broke  from 
his  lips. 

"  I  remember.  Great  Heaven  !  I  remember.  The 
accidenr.    Where  is — is — " 

i:  You  are  not  to  talk."  said  the  nurse,  gently.  "  It 
was  a  terrible  accident  !  Many  were  wounded,  many 
were  killed  outright ;  you  were  found  terribly  wounded, 
and  brought  here,  where  you  have  been  for  many  a 
long  week.  Look  through  the  window  :  see  those  snow 
flakes  scurrying  past  .  it  is  winter  now  ;  you  have  had 
a  long  siege  of  it."  She  went  on:  There  was  a  lady 
near  you,  a  young  and  beautiful  lady,  lying  there  dead 
— quite  dead' — when  they  found  her,  which  was  at  day- 
light. Her  hands  were  crossed  over  her  breast  like  a 
tired  child's.  There  was  a  smile  on  her  lips.  Everyone 
said  the  angels  must  have  been  hovering  very  near  her 
when  that  accident  happened,  watching  for  her  soul. 
She  was  so  young  to  die,  — poor,  pretty  young  thing. 
There  was  only  a  little  purple  mark  on  the  temple  to 
show  how  death  had  met  her.  that  was  all. 

"  Some  one  came  up  from  Waldron  Towers,  away 
down  in  Virginia,  and  took  her  home  *'ith  them — the 
body  I  mean,  and  I  heard  since  that  they  buried  her 
on  the  slope  of  hill — just  back  of  the  Towers. " 

Bernard  Chesleigh  turned  away  with  a  groan,  turn- 
ing his  face  to  the  wall.  It  seemed  to  him  that  her 
death  lay  on  his  soul. 

One  stormy  winter  night,  a  fortnight  later,  a  man 
made  his  way  through  the  snow-drifts  close  to  a  small 
enclosure,  which  was  fenced  off  in  the  most  isolated 
portion  of  the  Towers  grounds. 

He  need  not  have  taken  so  much  pains  to  steal  along 
in  the  shadow  of  the  trees,  for  there  were  none  to  see 
him.  The  old  Towers  was  closed  again,  its  occupants 
gone,  none  knew  whither,  and  surely  his  tread  could 
not  awaken  her  who  slept  beneath  the  marble  shaft 
toward  which  he  beut  his  steps. 

He  lit  a  match  and  read  the  inscription  on  it;  it 
bore  simply  this  : 


A  FORBIDDEN  CARRIAGE. 

Sacred  to  the  Memory  of 
/  RE  I N  E. 

AGED  18  YEARS. 

The  flaring  match  which  ,  shed  its  light  upon  the 
tomb  fell  upon  the  man's  face, — the  pale  face  of  Ber- 
nard Ohesleigh. 

"*  From  that  night  Bernard  Chesleigh  was  never  seen 
again.  For  a  time  those  who  knew  him  missed  him, 
then  forgot  him. 

Many  a  winter's  snow  fell  deep  upon  Reine's  grave, 
and  many  a  summer's  storm  showered  down  blood-red 
rose  leaves  from  a  wild  vine  that  had  clambered  round 
the  shaft  and  over  the  grave,  ere  the.  inmates  of 
Waldron  Towers  returned.  It  was  summer  then  and 
the  wild-rose  vine  was  still  in  bloom.  They  found  the 
wild-rose  vin°s  twined  so  closely  about  some  object 
lying  on  the  grave  that  they  had  to  bend  closer  to  see 
what  it  was.  To  their  surprise  and  horror  they  found 
it  was  the  skeleton  of  a  man,  but  who  he  had  been,  or 
how  he  had  come  there  no  one  knew  ;  only  this,  some- 
one must  have  lain  down  to  die  on  the  moss  grown 
grave  that  was  "  Sacred  to  Heine. " 

They  never  knew  they  were  carrying  out  the  last 
fervent  prayer  he  had  uttered  on  .  earth,  wher  they 
dug  his  grave  and  laid  all  that  remained  of  him  beside 
Reine. 


THE  END. 


t 


•J,-"r 


\ 


